God of War, God of Death
by Shinidorei
Summary: 5 Years after the the X18999 conflict Duo is trying to lead a normal life, but something goes terribly wrong. Will Duo survive being hunted by both Romafeller, and Preventers? Shonen ai, possible OOC, and copious amounts of violence. 1X5/2x5/1x2? Other pairings. renovated ch3.
1. Chapter 1

[Short Disclaimer: This fiction is entertainment purposes only, the author makes no claims of property over any part of the Gundam franchise.]

Soft lyrics drifted through the cramped compartments of the small cabin of the freighter. The sound bounced off of the metal walls, acoustically perfect, a happy accident that this model suffered from; any sound could carry through the halls of the freighter. As if to make up for it, the bulkheads were soundproof; however, Duo rarely closed any of them since he almost never had any crew. It didn't matter that he chose to listen to the rich sound created by the dichotomy of his intercom and the metal of his hull. In fact, when he was out on a salvage mission it was rare for him not to have music playing.

The ship had been a "gift" given to him from the sweepers before they had disbanded at the end of the Oz conflict. It was a small matter to forge the paperwork for the ship and disappear, in the ensuing chaos that marked the forming of the Earth Sphere Unified Nation; and as they honored any previous credentials, Duo had taken off with the ship, and a brand new pilot's license without a hitch. This all paved the way for his brand new salvage company.

He hadn't known if he agreed with Relena Peacecraft's approach to peace at the end of the conflict, but he certainly didn't want the mobile suit wreckage floating around the colonies used to build a resistance force, and God knows there was enough of it. He chose to begin his salvage company to do his small part to make sure that the more dangerous stuff stayed out of the hands of the more dangerous people.

Duo had draped himself sideways and naked save for an older pair of boxers over the fold-down armrests of the captain's chair staring blankly at the ceiling. He had launched from L4 two days ago and was en-route to a salvage site that he commonly frequented on his way back from the large quarterly auctions held in the L4 colonies. He had done well this quarter, selling all of the salvage he had brought to the auction at well over the market price. However, he couldn't seem to muster any excitement over the sales since he had almost entirely sold illegal mobile suit weapons. While it was true that it was a closed auction, he was able to pick his bidders very carefully, run an almost unwarrantedly strict background check on each one, and unload all of the guns keeping the ammo in his cargo bay.

He had promised himself that he would not sell the weapons he collected at the beginning of the venture, but if he had to break that promise, he sure as shit wouldn't sell the ammo to the damned things. Certainly couldn't make it too easy on the bastards. He actually had many storage units filled with weapons and partially intact suits from the war in discrete locations around the colonies. The ex-Gundam Pilot didn't want to contribute to another conflict, no matter how small; but as a salvager he couldn't bring himself to destroy the units. However, the salvage business that had blossomed after the war was slowing down.

He and his wife, Hilde, were seeing the mechanical salvage stay in their storage longer, and the bills were starting to look more and more daunting. It was Hilde who pointed out that there was always a market for weapons. As the CFO of his small firm, she knew of most of the salvage that he had tucked away. She started urging him to sell them off a few months ago, after the contracts started drying up. Duo remembered a particularly bitter fight where she had demanded that he liquidate his full stockpile. He had spent two nights sleeping on the ship. It had almost spelled the end of their relationship; however, theirs was a marriage of convenience allowing them to dodge taxes. Duo was still convinced that fact alone was what saved their marriage. Even with that thought, he wasn't sure it was worth keeping the relationship intact, but he knew he couldn't leave Hilde. His marriage to her was the only thing that helped him reconcile with his faith after the war.

The war. Every time he thought of it uncomfortable images floated though his mind. He had been young during the war, too young. All of the pilots had been, and always together especially at the end; their stay on Peacemillion came to mind, along with worrisome memories. Memories he had spent years trying to forget; memories that stirred something troubling in his loins.

Memories of tussled dark chocolate hair, and unbelievably blue eyes, that he found himself lost in too often for comfort. Duo was shocked that the extraordinary pilot had allowed him to touch his chiseled flesh. True it was just two teens in over their heads blowing off steam after the problems of much older men came to rest on their shoulders; that didn't change how Duo felt about the other pilot. After the war Duo had cut and run, going as far as taking a new name, James Elliot Monad. He told himself it was to escape a boring desk job in the Preventers or worse a pity position in the Winner Corporation. He knew the real reason though. No matter what he told himself, he couldn't handle a "No" from those perfect lips in lightly accented English.

Slight Asian features swirled through his mind fogging his senses pulling him back to the memories that plagued him. There was a husky male voice whispering in his ear. Duo couldn't make it out around the pleasant tickling of other youth's breath; there was a distinct possibility that the sweet noise wasn't even English, but Duo didn't care as long as the voice kept murmuring. Heat rose somewhere lower than his waist, and an intense urgency swept over. Duo turned to kiss the other youth; electricity flowed over his skin upon contact. Passion spread thickly over his loins and the urgency built into something more…something primal. Hands were running through his hair, splitting the plaits of his braid. The thick locks fell limply around his face, but all Duo cared about was the contact of his skin with the other young man.

The proximity alarm shrieked its one piercing note, filling the cabin with unpleasant reverberations. Terrified, Duo shot out of his seat, smashing his crown on the low cabin ceiling. The colors drained out Duo's vision, while the noises seemed sluggish as he floated listlessly in the micro gravity. It took several seconds for the world to put itself into proper focus; the first color Duo saw was red. Small rivulets of blood streamed out of his head twisting wildly with a strange weight in their lazy fall to the steel hull, but the sound of the proximity alarm took precedence. He slammed the emergency bulkhead seal and flipped on the external monitor. A small cathode ray tube set in the left corner of the front viewing port fuzzed to life and in it floated the carcass of a cargo vessel. It was half a nautical mile away, careening toward him at nearly 150 knots. Dread washed over the American at the sight of what was surely his death.

He snatched the yolk, and twisted. The roll gauge screamed as he flipped the belly of the freighter up. The cabin was safe, but at the expense of his cargo bay. Cold fear gripped Duo as he realized what he had done. All of the mobile suit ammo was in the cargo bay. All it would take was one round to go off… and sayonara bucko.

Duo's grip on the plastic handholds tightened, he pressed the yolk into the con and floored the pedal for the bow booster. The stern of the vessel shot beneath the body as the freighter flipped just in time. It started with the rasping of metal plates scraping against one another. Duo didn't let off the accelerator as the horrendous noise washed over him, shaking him violently in his seat. It was all he could do to stop himself from flying across the cabin and becoming very well acquainted with the wall. The scraping quickly built into a crescendo of cacophonous crashing, finally ending in a resounding shudder that actually did throw Duo from his seat. He held onto the yolk, knowing that loosing his grip now meant certain death. He swung wildly about the cockpit, his legs colliding heavily with the console.

The main impact was over scant moments after the affair had started; now all he had to worry about was trailing debris. He had been lucky up until this point and nothing had compromised the cockpit, but luck couldn't last forever. The shaking of his flight deck slowed as the secondary collisions of the cargo ship's scrap peppered the hull, resonating through the freighter's frame. On the hull integrity's compact panel, it's single button flashed urgently as a hidden speaker buzzed informing Duo of the emergency. He drifted slowly toward the floor, exhausted, still gripping the yolk with adrenaline infused strength, but now, that small yellow-lit button occupied all of his attention. He had to know what sections were compromised. He had to know if he could get to his normal suit.

Duo hated environment suits, they reminded him of the war, and so they spent almost all of their time strapped down in a survival station located at the back of the ship. When he had obtained the ship each compartment had a survival station, but Duo hated looking at the suits, and so he consolidated them to the back of the ship, in the cargo bay. He did however leave the extra air tanks, flares, and grapple wrist-guns in all of the small alcoves.

Duo made his way, still floating, over to the compact panel, and pressed the flashing button; immediately a folding instrument panel swung violently open, snapping into the extended position with a loud crack that echoed throughout the cockpit. Duo flinched; he was not prepared for what he saw. Each compartment had it's own LED, and in the event that the compartment ruptured, their corresponding light would automatically switch on. All of the LEDs were alight including the cockpit; the damned thing had shorted. If he set off toward the normal suit storage, he had no way of knowing if the door in front of him had air. He cursed loudly at the console and slammed an open palm onto the exposed surface, he felt something give, and the steel bend. The LED's fizzled and slowly faded out.

"Damn it!" he muttered and looked away from the console. By chance he looked port. His heart stopped. A large piece of debris had dislodged from the back of the ship, and was flying straight at the flight deck viewing portal. Duo pushed off of the co-pilot's panel so hard he heard something tear. He was launching toward the survival station. Slamming hard into the alcove, he scrambled for the wrist-gun, his fingers momentarily lost and batting uselessly at the restraints. It took several seconds to get the object free, seconds he didn't have. Frantically he tried to get to the air-locked bulkhead, snatching at the release. As he laid his hand on it, a mighty sound filled the room around him.

It started with a crystalline crash. Daring one look, he pulled the lever. There was a prolonged cracking noise and Duo watched in horror as a tiny chip, in milliseconds, spider webbed throughout the triple paned glass…and then the aperture just stopped being there at all. There was a terrible high-pitched whistle as all of the air in the room tried to stuff itself out of a two-foot hole.

The strong current wrenched on his braid, flapping it harshly, and tearing at his scalp. Duo pulled the lever, terrified that all he would find on the other side was a wall from the other ship's hull, or worse vacuum. Duo held fast to the handle as the door opened, with the invisible howling hands tearing at him, and hollow sounds of alarms in the rapidly thinning air. Before the ex-Gundam Pilot knew it, more invisible hands started pushing him toward the void that had been a window. He crowed loudly. There was air on the other side.

He wasted no time in firing the wrist-gun at the far wall; the emergency override was already trying to shut the door again. His feet could no longer hold traction, and he hung suspended by the wrist cannon's wire. The grappler whined loudly against the tug of the vacuum, it pulled him halfway out of the room before he started seeing smoke shoot out of the small winding motor. The wind grabbed hold of his underwear, making the soft fabric slide down his thighs. He was three quarters of the way into the hall with the bulkhead half closed, when the wrist-gun started shooting pink flame out of its side, grinding to a halt.

Duo's legs were still trailing into the cockpit; he reached up on the braided tri-filament wire, hauling his way out of the doorway. Duo pulled free of the threshold and wrapped some of the slack around his hand to hold him fast incase the air should get too thin for him to hold himself. Something rocked the hull again and Duo felt the wire slice open his palm as he slipped a few precious centimeters toward the still open bulkhead.

The current finally tore his garment off, while his blood splattered heavily on his face, stinging him where it stuck. Globules of it rolled around his face, resting in any recess it could find, the majority of it found its way into his mouth or came to rest uncomfortably in his eyes. He squinted his eyes shut, praying for the flight deck entry to seal so he could rub the bothersome stuff out of his eyes. Duo felt metal brush his toes and he knew he was almost safe.

"Just a little longer," he whispered to himself as he felt the bulkhead glide smoothly beneath his feet. The roar of rushing air was abruptly cut off. The taut cable slackened, and Duo felt himself float lazily toward the deck. He reached up and wiped at the blood on his face with his good hand streaking it down his cheek. The air was so thin it felt as though some one was holding a blanket over his face. He didn't care. It was better than decompression.

The American continued to work the blood out of his eyes. When he could see again, he lay near the metal plating of the corridor's deck in the stifling silence and stared blankly at the ceiling trying not to panic in the thin air. A loud clunk made him jump. He was floating nine centimeters above the hull and could still feel the vibration shake the cabin.

Frantically he scrambled for the next airlock, not even thinking to pray that there was air on the other side. There was a mechanical whine followed by another thud, the cabin pressure indicator light flashed and Duo felt cool air wash over him. He giggled at himself hysterically. The ex-pilot realized that if he had any chance of surviving this incident he was going to need a normal suit.

Duo floated naked in the hall waiting for the air pressure to normalize, he wanted a few easy breaths before he did anything. Feeling a little too relaxed in the cool breaths the ventilator blew over him, a pleasant buzz filled his head. His grip slackened in the micro gravity, still gliding toward the steel bulkheads. It vaguely occurred to him, that he might have a concussion, but his eyelids were so heavy. It felt like leaden weights were attached to his eyelids, irresistibly pulling them shut. A small snore escaped his lips before his eyes had fully closed. He was unconscious. Duo finally came to rest on the steel floor of the hall, lying absolutely still except for his slight breaths that were much too shallow.

A crash rattled the entire ship, harshly throwing the sleeping American into the wall. Still attached to the hull via the wire that had dug into his hand, he bobbed furiously at the end of it, slamming periodically against into the wall. The lights dimmed and flickered. The air ventilator halted momentarily, clattering back to life in a fashion that if Duo had been awake, would have made him very uncomfortable. Another collision…and the hall shook harder.

Duo's limp sprawling body impacted heavily into the bulkhead of the galley on the adjacent wall to the cockpit. By chance his right arm slid under the release latch, catching the grappler's wire. The American rebounded off of the door, flailing wildly, while his limp body hit the end of the slack hard. A very unpleasant crunch echoed throughout the hall and Duo's right arm hung oddly, as though barely attached.

Soon the hull stopped shaking and the American's furious movement slowed. The fluorescent bulbs flickered and died. It took the emergency lights several seconds to engage. Small red LED's laid into the floor of the hall snapped on and several red light bulbs set into the corners of the hall's ceiling flickered to life with a soft buzz. The new light threw strange and harsh shadows over the silhouette of the still swaying young man.

"Lion, this is Archer. I have a positive ID on the target."

Duo started awake to the sound of a human voice speaking above his head. He tried to stifle the physical reaction he had to the new stimuli rousing him out of sleep, an old habit from the war, an effort that was not entirely successful. Hearing a change in the other person's voice, he knew he had been discovered. Before he could undo the glue that held his eyelids shut a heavy blow landed just beneath his rib cage.

Duo's eyes had no trouble flying open after that. His eyes locked on the insignia embroidered into the fabric of the man's normal suit…OZ. If he were able to catch his breath, he would have gasped, hard. Oz had been officially disbanded for 5 years now and all of the soldiers imprisoned with the end of the X18999 incident…or so every one had thought. Yet here they were knocking the wind out of him. Duo took advantage of the temporary paralysis; using all of the self-control he could muster, he sprawled limply. Another blow landed painfully in his ribs and to Duo's pleasure the paralysis didn't allow him react.

Duo slammed into the wall, rebounding harshly and flailing wildly. The slack caught, stopping the American by his damaged right arm. There was an almost inhuman sound that filled the hall as the taut wire swung him wildly back toward the wall. It wasn't until the American smashed into the steel and the metal started reverberating the sound back at him, did he realized that it was his voice he was hearing. The pain came crashing in, filling his skull with nothing else. It took Duo several seconds to realize that something was digging painfully into the bottom of his chest; the item was suspended between him and the wall. Duo, again, went limp and shifted his left arm under his chest as quickly as he could shimmy the damned thing, hoping for a weapon.

His hand clasped around soft leather. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach as he realized what the object was; the wrist cannon. He could do more damage to the OZ solder with the cotton side of a Q-tip. Duo grabbed the object furious, hoping to damage it more than it had frustrated him. There was a soft clunk from the other side of the hall. The wire jerked.

Duo loosened his grip on the cannon elated; he had by chance pressed the release. He tried pulling on the wire with his right hand; his arm didn't so much as sway. The effort rewarded him with white fire shooting through his arm. The pain was fantastic, almost unreal. He heard the soldier shout something at him as more pain filled his right side. The man was digging his heel into Duo's shoulder. The ex-Gundam pilot rolled under the man just as the sound of a gunshot echoed through the hall. Duo wasn't sure if he had been shot, but he didn't care.

Flashing his eyes open, he inventoried the man who was pointing a small pistol at him. The soldier's visor was open, staring down at him with wild eyes. The normal suit he wore only had one mention of OZ; all other brandings were of the Romerfeller's lion insignia.

Duo snarled at the man reaching up with his left hand. He tore at the wire, sending waves of kinetic force through the thin material. The small metal spike tore out of the bulkhead, rebounding heavily through the air. The soldier snapped towards the small sound and watched the anchor fly at him in terror. It landed with a crunch inside the open visor; the man curled backward. Screaming in a primal way, the now injured soldier fired off a couple of misaimed shots that ricocheted loudly off of the hall's metal.

Duo felt something strike his vindictive side and snatched the grappler. He deployed the anchoring pins; they snapped out filling the hall with a sickeningly wet crack. The man convulsed wildly. Duo picked himself up, painfully trailing his useless right arm and walked over to the galley door. He freed the wire from the release hatch and stumbled toward the OZ soldier. The low pull of micro gravity was the only thing that kept Duo upright as he tripped clumsily over his own feet.

When he reached the soldier, the man wasn't moving. The grappler's anchor had displaced his left eye, digging into the eye socket pushing the organ out, twisting and spraying blood, as it hung suspended at the end of the soldier's optic nerve bundle. The only thing that told Duo that the man was still alive was the unfocused right eye, trying frantically to follow his movements.

Duo calmly removed the man's helmet and let it glide to the floor, pulling the wire that was laced through the aperture with it. Duo looked at the man callously. The soldier was moving his lips, but there was not sound, his lungs could no longer exhale. He was already dead; his body just hadn't caught on yet.

Duo looped the wire around the man's neck and stepped unsympathetically on his damaged skull. Duo grabbed hold of a length of wire, winding it around his good hand and jerked hard. There was a wet pop as a fine red mist jetted out; the man's head flopped off. It soared to the end of the gory wire propelled by the man's jet of blood. The head bobbed, bouncing wildly in the semi-weightlessness. The newly freed body started into a vigorous new wave of convulsions as Duo watched the head's shocked expression fade and slacken with sick satisfaction. Watching until the head just hung limply and was certain that the damned thing had died.

A small voice crackled to life inside the helmet, "Archer, report!"

Duo knew he didn't have much time before Archer's unit came to investigate. In a straight fight, with the state of his right arm, he was little more than doomed. He snatched his arm and pain again flooded his body; he ignored it and began feeling for breaks. He worked his way up, starting at his wrist. When he was done it satisfied him to note that the arm itself was not broken; but it was just dislocated at the shoulder. His hand was another story. He had snapped at least three bones in the excitement prior to the soldier's arrival.

Duo moved to the cargo bay entrance at the end of the hall, spun on his heel and used his left arm to hold his right in place. He bolted towards the cockpit and at the last second twisted his right side forward. The world lurched and there was a sickening pop. Agony cascaded through his body, as his right shoulder found its torturous way back into place. Duo floated back dazed, waiting for the pain to break. The voice crackled to life again, demanding something from the now headless Archer, but Duo couldn't bring himself to care. He was more concerned with the blinding pain that still racked him.


	2. Chapter 2

Update Note: The document importer removed several paragraphs. This interim update is to reinsert these. My apologies; I will be more mindful of this in the future._5/3/2013 4:13PM EST_

Second Chapter:

The sun had set some ago, but Wufei had been asleep long before twilight. The room was heavy with the dim light of night, and inky obsidian shadows on ebony cast by the moon through the open curtains, and Wufei dozed in an over-stuffed armchair that he and Heero had purchased from a thrift store when they had first moved into their apartment of two years. It had been purchased in a debatably successful venture to furnish their new residence. The chair was fraying at its seams, and Heero had tried throwing it out many times over the past year, saying that they had new furniture and they no longer needed it.

It was the cause of many arguments, and the chair had been called everything from dirty to wretched. Here it still sat though, with him in it. It had been pushed to the corner of the living room; where it couldn't be seen around the new cream suede couch. It was Wufei's favorite chair. It reassured him when Heero was out; it was a little quirk that he picked up when Heero had received a promotion to lieutenant, and started leading the Preventers raids on Mobile Suit weapons stockpiles. Usually by the time Preventers confirmed the stockpile, there were a few would-be weapons dealers that had latched onto them, and they didn't let them go with out a fight.

Wufei hated it when Heero went out on a mission, he hated the thought of Heero coming back in a bag; he had settled a little after the war, but when he went out on a mission it was like the war never ended. Mr. perfect soldier peels back the mask of the Heero he loved, and stays sometimes days after the mission ends. That reckless abandon had been the cause of more than a few sleepless nights for Wufei, and more close calls for Heero than he cared to remember. Wufei was living in fear of the inevitable call from Une, to inform the next of kin.

The vid-phone shrieked, shattering the silence of the dark room. Terror tore Wufei awake. He bolted out of his chair before his eyes could focus properly. He tried to hurry across the room, while avoiding the obstacles his furniture presented. Wufei heard the couch lurch and screech as it slid across the hardwood floor before he felt the pain. He collapsed cradling his left foot. In the dark he was unable to fully inspect the damage. He sat for a few moments and waited, listening for the phone, and wondering if he missed the caller; his answering machine beeped loudly and he knew he had.

"Damn," he hissed as he stood, and the pain washed over his foot. He hobbled the rest of the way to the phone. There was a small lamp next to the phone for writing messages. He flicked it on and looked behind him at the couch that had shifted a good 12 centimeters. There were small blood smears where he had stepped. He sneered at them and turned toward the phone, flicking on the vid monitor. His heart skipped a beat as Commander Une's face flickered to life.

"Agent Chang, report to briefing room 6 at 2130 hours," that was all. Une's face froze momentarily as the system loaded the mail box's home screen, but Wufei didn't wait that long, he reached over and flicked off the monitor. He was dumbfounded; he glanced stupidly at the clock hanging at the entrance to the kitchenette. 7 o'clock, 1900; he had 2 and a half hours to be at Preventers headquarters. Morbid images of what might have happened to Heero floated through his mind as he hurried to get ready to appear in front of his superior officer.

His shower was hurried, not even bothering to wait for the cold water to drain out of the showerhead. He stepped onto the chilled tile, and tore off his nightclothes, throwing them over the smoked glass that he had hurriedly slammed shut. He spun the nozzle from shut to the mixed colors that labeled the warm settings. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the icy torrent that blasted him. He shielded his body with one hand and retreated from the offense until his back was pressed against the cold tile of the wall, and cringed; he waited like this for the water to warm. When he had thawed, he snatched the bar soap that Heero liked, not taking the time to unscrew the cap to his mint vanilla scented body wash. He didn't bother washing all of his body, only hitting his armpits and pubic mound, before washing his face, and rushing out of the shower.

His shower was hurried, not even bothering to wait for the cold water to drain out of the shower head. He stepped onto the chilled tile, and tore off his nightclothes, throwing them over the smoked glass that he had hurriedly slammed shut. He spun the nozzle from shut to the mixed colors that labeled the warm settings. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the icy torrent that blasted him. He shielded his body with one hand and retreated from the offense until his back was pressed against the cold tile of the wall, and cringed; he waited like this for the water to warm. When he had thawed, he snatched the bar soap that Heero liked, not taking the time to unscrew the cap to his mint vanilla scented body wash. He didn't bother washing all of his body, only hitting his armpits and pubic mound, before washing his face, and rushing out of the shower. He briefly considered an appropriate outfit for the situation.

He had run to his room, and was half way dressed in a nice if plain ashen suit, when he realized that briefings required his formal uniform. Something he had not worn since his retirement from field service. He felt something sink in the pit of his stomach, as he surveyed the closet. He had hidden his "Formals," as the desk personnel were not required to present in uniform, they had a propensity for stirring memories he'd rather not revisit. He tore at the suits that lined his closet, throwing them roughly onto the carpet outside just beyond the threshold. It was like the thing had evaporated. He was nearly in tears as he tore open his dresser, which was set against the back wall of the closet. Still it eluded him.

An idea struck him; Heero had multiple Preventers uniforms. He tore out of his room, and slammed his roommate's door open heavily. Wufei had not been in this room since they had moved in together. He topped and inspected the room; the site unnerved him. For a man that once did not allow even one lump in his bedspread, a fact that earned him much indignation from his American lover during the war. The heedless upkeep of the room was shocking. That isn't to say it was dirty, just not perfect. This was a fact that Wufei was not quite ready for. There was dust on his furniture, and there were multiple lumps in the comfortable looking bedspread that clad his waterbed. Wufei tried to think when Heero had brought that home. Certainly he would have noticed the giant thing being lugged up the three flights of stairs to their apartment, but he could remember ever seeing it, and there was a strange smell that he couldn't identify. Even stranger was the Disney alarm clock near the head of Heero's bed, but the time it displayed quickly reminded him of the reason he was in the other man's room. There was only an hour left before Wufei was expected.

Wufei rushed to Heero's closet; the door was left ajar, and the site that met him horrified and appalled him. The closet stuck a strange picture of contrasts. All of his suits were sheathed in thin, airtight plastic sleeves, and all of his shoes were organized by type, and color in hanging cubbies. However, there was a pile of clothes in the corner, and they did not smell fresh. Stained socks haphazardly littered the floor from the threshold, leading back to the pile of clothes. Used boxers mingled unpleasantly with the other garments.

The smell slowly solidified into that of body odor as he moved closer to the fetid pile of clothes. He saw what he was looking for immediately, the dark blues and tans of Heero's uniform poked out from behind an avocado suit, that he both hated and was strangely drawn to. Holding his nose didn't save him from the sensual onslaught as he maneuvered toward his prize. The smell hung so heavy near the pile that he could taste it. He snatched the uniform and bolted out into the hall. He slammed the door after him, and gasped at the fresh air outside of the festering room. He unzipped the sheath and tentatively sniffed at the fabric, worried that the smell had made its way inside the thin plastic.

Lilac met his nose. He breathed heavily, and moved off to the bathroom to put on the uniform. He smiled to himself as he slid on the other man's pants; he was lucky that they were close in size. The butt was a little snug, and he turned around to inspect it to see the damage. He was pleasantly surprised at how they framed his ass, and smiled appreciatively. He threw on a soft cotton undershirt, and followed it the pressed tan linen of the uniform's shirt. The dark blue tie was easy to loop, and made a small Windsor.

He slid the heart shaped knot up to rest beneath hi throat. Over all Heero's uniform looked good on him. Although just a tinge tight it revealed the contours of his body well, better than the slightly shorter man. He picked up the jacket, to throw it over rest. A light metallic tinkle made him stop. The name pin, still read Heero's name. He ran out to the kitchen, to check the time. Forty-five more minutes, he had to go.

He ran to the door, wrenched it open, and sat on the threshold as he pulled his aged combat boots on. He kept his name pins in his desk, ever since he retired from field service, he didn't need them regularly.

Une rarely called on agents personally, and much less common was her to call on a desk agent like himself. Wufei had retired from field agent status after his first year with the agency, and now worked on the paperwork that held the framework of Preventers' bureaucracy together. He knew it had to be about Heero, they rarely did a debriefing for next of kin, but then Heero was a lieutenant, and the Gundam pilots were always treated differently no matter what the official policy stated, there was always some leniency for them; so by the time he was pulling into the Preventers' parking lot he had worked himself into a panic.

He barely registered the security checks, only taking note of them when he was forced to present id and his arms; he didn't carry a weapon on him since his retirement, and so the arms check was mostly procedural. Normally the security guard wouldn't have bothered to check for unregistered weapons, but the Gundam pilots made the other agents nervous, true only three of them worked in Preventers these days, but Heero and Trowa had earned themselves a reputation of being unpredictable, and thus they treated all of the Gundam pilots like pariahs. Wufei barely felt the rough pats of the guard as he frisked him. He didn't wait for the security guard to usher him forward, and started off toward the elevator.

The call button was a small circular dome, with a small white light in the center; rose above the brushed steel of its back plate. He pressed it a little harder than he needed. He looked up at the floor indicator above the brushed steel of the elevator door, and taped his foot impatiently as he watched the indicator light flashed under the polished brash twelve, and slowly moved toward ground level. It paused at the small three, and Wufei lost his temper with it. He slammed he fist against the call button. Wufei felt the plate give with a metallic whine. The elevator began moving again, as if in response to his violence.

The elevator opened after on a few more seconds, and he shouldered his way in to the small room between the retracting doors, that were opening too slowly for him. There was only one other person in the elevator, a stern looking woman with grey hair. She was currently looking at Wufei like he was mad, which wasn't too far from the truth. She gave Wufei a wide berth as she maneuvered toward the safety of the lobby.

Wufei was relieved he didn't have spend any more time in her company, as he reached over to press the small plastic button labeled fifteen. Briefing room six was on fifteen, he was relieved that it had only taken 15 minutes to get to Preventers headquarters, although if there had been a cop n the road he would be seeing some jail time. Felony speeding was defined as twenty kilometers an hour over the posted speed limit, and he was easily doing one hundred and ninety on the way there, almost a hundred over the limit.

He shuddered to think what could have happened, if he had been pulled over. He started thinking of excuses he could have given the hypothetical cop. All of them sounded weak in his head so he started to vocalize them, hoping that hearing them aloud would make them feel more substantial. He didn't notice the elevator stop and open on the 9th floor, where he worked together with sally, when she had to do paperwork that is.

"Wow, Heero I always thought you were a little crazy, but this?" Sally's teasing tone shattered Wufei's fantasy; interrupting an argument he was having with his invented officer. He blinked stupidly at her for a moment, and gaped his mouth a couple times before managing to say something.

"Heero?' he repeated stupidly. She simply pointed at the nameplate on his chest. He looked down at it and panicked, he remembered his name pins. He glanced at the floor number briefly, and bolted past Sally who was standing in the doorway, preventing it from closing. He ran full tilt down the hall toward his office. He came to the end of the hall and weaved frantically through the cubicles of the lower employees, nearly tripping over a few over achievers still burning the midnight oil.

He burst into his office, slamming the door into the wall, and pounced on his desk, tearing open the drawers and rifling through them frantically. His center drawer caught as he tried to open it. He could see just beyond the lip of the faceplate, there were millions of pins. He was drowning in pins. He wiggled his fingers into the tiny gap between the draw's faceplate and the surface of the desk. He yanked at it harshly. The desk jerked, and squealed as it dragged across the hardwood flooring of his office. Whatever was holding the drawer gave, and it flew to the end of its track. The sound of splintering wood filled the room, and stationary burst into the air showering Wufei as the now broken drawer clattered loudly onto the ground. He bent down frantically shuffling through the mass, grasping for any brass object.

A hand appeared in front of him holding one of his pins, "You are looking for this?" Sally's voice quipped playfully. Wufei shot to his feet and outstretched his hand. "Nuh uh, what'll I get out of it?" Wufei growled at her. She didn't seem to be affected by his obvious aggression. "How about a late dinner," she continued in her infuriating lilt.

"Why did you follow me Sally?" he bit out at her. She smiled devilishly.

"Well your ass looked so good in Heero's pant's I had to follow just to look at it. I mean God, you never showcase your ass like that. Got to get it while I can!" She continued to quip. He growled at her again, and snatched at her hand; she too was fast. She lifted it, deftly maneuvering out of his reach.

He composed himself as best he could, straitening out the twisted reflection of rage in his face. He looked her in the face, and tried to be as imposing as possible. "Sally, please give that to me, I have a briefing at 1930 hours." She pulled back her sleeve, and looked at her watch. She made a show of trying to make out the dials, and counted aloud. Wufei growled at her again, and found himself wishing horrible, nasty, deranged things on her.

"Well by my calculations, you have twenty minutes to nicely ask me to dinner," she placed special emphasis on the word nicely. Wufei was nearly crawling out of his skin with anger, but he complied with much vexation. He looked her in the eyes, and tried not to explode in a rage at her. He squinted, and puffed up, trying futilely to appear imposing again. Her smile never wavered, during his failed show of dominance, something that nearly drove him out of his skull with fury. He deflated and accepted defeat.

"Sally will you go to dinner with me?" he rattled off as quickly as possible. She lowered her hand and opened it just enough so that he could see the coppery glint of the polished brass, and bend down a little, turning the right side of her face toward him. She blinked innocently, and tried to act as dainty as possible. He reached toward her hand, and grunted at her. She snatched it out of his reach again.

"I'm sorry I don't believe I heard you correctly," she chirped back at him. It took all of his self-restraint to stop himself from hitting her.

"Look Sally, I have to go with or with out that pin. Please give it to me," he appealed to her, hoping that his disinterest would loosen her enthusiasm for taunting him.

"Dinner," she repeated simply. He took a moment, pretending to think about it. He closed his eyes and chewed on his upper lip.

"I'll pick you up at your office after the briefing," He replied defeated, with his eyes still closed. She lowered her hand, and presented him with the object when he opened his eyes. He snatched the item and hurried off to the nearest bathroom to put the item on.

(~*~*~)

Wufei was a few minutes early; he was terrified that this was a debriefing on Heero failing a mission. Wufei knew the cost of a failed mission, when it came to failure in the Preventers' Mobile Deterrent branch, it was almost as if the war hadn't ended. That was why Heero joined them. Wufei sat in a straight-backed steel chair, and stared at the clock, 2125. He counted the seconds, willing the second hand to move faster. Time seemed to slow, and creep by almost in defiance of Wufei, as if it was goading him. The low click of the second hand was torturous.

At the precise moment that the minute hand struck the small plastic 6 the door opened, and in stepped commander Une. She was trailed by three cornels, which Wufei could only assume were aids. This was the first time he had seen Une in person since he joined Preventers. She had started wearing glasses again, and by the look of them he would not be surprised if they were the same pair she had worn during his war with OZ. The small item stirred memories of his defeat by Treize, a memory that did nothing to improve his already shaky disposition. He had met Une for the first time in the aftermath of that humiliating dual. He had been so sure of his swordsmanship before he had met Treize, than again he had been sure of a lot of things before Treize. That man had been responsible for a lot of changes in Wufei's life, half dressed and frantic images of the late coronal rose to the forefront of his mind. He tried to stifle them, using the techniques he used for meditation to clear his mind, trying to find solace in the perfect silence of a balanced mind. The pure black he had associated with peace washed away the troubling memories, but they did not stay subdued for long. They retaliated not with the steamy rose colored images of his torrid affair with the enemy commander, but with flashes of the inside of Nataku, and the flickering silhouette of a white and blue mobile suit. There was a deep gash in the side of Tallgeese that radiated with an ominous orange. Wufei could feel his eyes burn as partial images of the man's face floated through his now swimming vision. The man was speaking into his monitor, and he saw the man's expressive face working out the last transmission he received from the man he loved be fore he was murdered, by Wufei's own hands.

Wufei tore his eyes open, willing them dry. He desperately searched his surroundings for something to wash Treize out of his mind. Movement caught his attention, and he grasped onto it. One of the aides leaned toward Une, and whispered in a voice Wufei was sure was meant to be too low for him not to hear, "Castor is on his way," this had to be serious if the head of Mobile Deterrent was coming down for a meeting with him. His heart sank, and it was all he could to hold back his tears.

It had been nearly three years since he had last seen Castor. Images of the funeral flashed through his mind. It had been a warm day, in total defiance of the solemn event. He had been the mission lead; it had been his fault that Pollux had been killed. The target had been some arms-dealer named Ambrogino Capra, that was looking for some quick cash by breaking in to MO2, he and his thugs had gotten out with over 70 million Guilders worth of mobile suits and paraphernalia. Wufei's team had tracked them down to an auction in the L4 Colony Cluster on the 51st block. By the time they caught up to Capra, he was trying to leave the colony. They had been ready for Wufei's team.

The crossfire had killed seven civilians, and one agent. Pollux had been shot three times, and they kept shooting at him even as they kept the other Preventers pinned down. He had been alive when they opened the bay doors. They never found Agent Pollux's body, but there was no doubt that he was dead. It was later determined that there must have been an informant. Pollux was suspected to be involved in the leak; some went as far as citing the dead agent as the source of the leak, but no one could find any substantial proof. At the time he had been a Master Chief in the Mobile Disarmament branch; they later reorganized them into the Mobile Deterrent and Weapons Expunction Branches, but he had nothing to do with them anymore; he was on permanent desk assignment.

She must have seen his reaction to the name, as she stood silently at the head of the room waiting to be acknowledged. There was the sound of impatient rustling coming from the direction of one of the aide's and something clicked in Wufei. He looked up, and realized that Une had been standing at attention. He immediately stood, and saluted.

"Agent Chang," it was a greeting. Wufei nodded in reply, he didn't trust his voice. Une took a seat beneath the large dry erase board, and reached over the metal lip and started rolling the markers so that she could see their label. She would pause periodically and inspect the color; some times she would pop off one of their caps and make a small mark on the white surface. She would then place the cap back onto its marker with a snap that reverberated through out the nearly empty briefing room. Wufei crossed his legs in order to camouflage his anxious fidgets at the offensive sound. He glanced at the small clock hanging above the door, and shifted uneasily at as the minute hand passed the seven. Une had been in the room for five minutes, and the briefing had yet to begin. Terrible images of a mangled Heero surfaced ominously from the murky depths of his unconscious. Dread started to ooze down his spine, causing him to visibly shudder; something that Une had not missed, to his embarrassment.

"Are you cold, Wufei?" the soft inflection in Une's usually stern voice shocked Wufei out of his mental reveries. His attention immediately snapped to director of the entire Preventers organization. He opened his mouth to respond "No," but all that came out was a weak hiss that even he could not interpret into any semblance of understandable language. Une gave him a strange look, which withered him further. She studied him a little too intensely over the rim of her curved, oversized glasses, and he slumped further into his chair wishing a very deep dark hole would open up under him so he could crawl into it and die. She reached behind her again and began fiddling with the markers again.

The door burst open, and with no preamble a short middle-aged man erupted into the room followed by a flurry of aides all brandishing thick documents at him. He snatched several of the now wrinkled papers, and swatted violently at the others, shooing their curriers more forcefully than was necessary. Wufei jumped several feet into the air at the man's entrance. His heart felt ready to bust at the sudden flurry, terror slowly subsided as he turned his attention to the man. He caught a glimpse of curly blonde poking out from underneath the Preventers command cap. It was Castor.

The man herded the aides over the threshold, some of which were still brandishing their documents at him. He slammed the door in a young man's face, which had been forcing his way through the crowd, and was demanding that he take his memo. The slam reverberated unpleasantly through out the insulated room. It quickly cleared and all that remained was the ringing in Wufei's ears. All eyes were locked on the man who shuffling papers at the podium. He had not yet saluted the room. His head was bent; quickly scanning the papers he had accepted before acknowledging his transfixed audience. Castor raised his head, and scanned the room. He immediately locked eyes on Wufei and nodded curtly at the Chinese man. Wufei stood and saluted again, and held waiting to be relieved. He wasn't.

Castor looked back down at the documents and shuffled them frantically. He quickly gave up and walked back to the door. He pulled it open and immediately the room was filled with the sounds of the aide's shouting again. He snatched something roughly from one of them, and again slammed the door; at this point Wufei could see something that made him very uncomfortable raise in Une's face. She erupted out of her chair and turned on the short blonde man.

"What is the meaning of this?" Une managed to fill every corner of the small conference room with the full force of her voice. Wufei cringed at her strong tone and tried to shrink. It was not an easy task as he stood at attention, still saluting. Castor froze at the door he had just closed and dropped the manila envelope he had retrieved from behind the door. It burst open spilling three of its slides that Wufei couldn't make out from where he stood. Castor slowly turned on his heel, not taking a single step forward, and saluted with an expression of calculated calm hanging over his delicate Mediterranean features. He snapped to attention, and stared at Une waiting to be relieved.

"I am not used to this sort of excitement, you had better to explain yourself Castor," her voice was calm, but her inflection promised death. Castor stood at attention without changing his expression, staring at Une still waiting to be relieved. Wufei felt the circulation slow in his arm from the awkward position. Pure fury washed over Une's face, but she saluted and relieved the room, Wufei let his arm fall limply at his side, and felt the pinpricks of returning circulation. Castor took a step toward the podium, and Une sat, still watching him expectantly.

(~*~*~)

AN: Thanks for all the reviews. I'm glad to see so many fans still out there. There will be many pairings in this story, but it was originally written for the Moments of Rapture Contest (1x2x1), It was not finished in time, and therefore does not have to follow their rules. We'll have to see where it takes us.

Special love to Elle and our guest reviewers, don't worry Duo will be back next update.

~Shini


	3. Chapter 3

AN: I initially toned this chapter down because I was concerned it was too racy. Then I thought what the hell? If you don't like the content, please don't read, or skip the parts you don't like.

Here we go, with the renovated chapter 3:

Warnings: language, sexual content, adult themes, and copious violence.

Third Chapter:

Heero was not used luxurious accommodation while in the field, but still this particular safe house in the lower block of L1 stuck out in his mind. Preventers had not out done themselves when they had chosen this particular apartment, though it gave a fantastic view of the storage facility across the street where a large weapons stockpile was supposed to be held. He was still not sure if it was worth the peeling lime green paint, water stained ceiling, and musty smell; like mildew, stale sweat, and ammonia. He was sure the view was not worth the cockroaches that made their way up the drains into the shower. He was also sure that whatever the things were doing to sink was certainly not worth it. Preventers had dispatched him a week ago to confirm, and secure the location, and if a lead on the owner of the cache could be ascertained to pursue and arrest them. Unfortunately there had been no activity around the storage facility at all, not even legitimate customers.

Heero sat with his back to the wall, propping his right leg up to use as an armrest. There was no furniture in the dingy little tenement, everything had been removed before he was dispatched, probably robbed; he guessed. L1 was a rich colony, but not every one shared in the good fortune. Ever since the war with Mariemaia the rift between the very rich and the very poor was growing. It worried Heero a little. A shrinking middle class meant more disgruntled poor that rebellious factions could recruit from. In fact since the earth sphere went into recession last year, Heero had seen more arrests than in his entire previous tenure with Preventers. This all meant one thing to him, his job was going to get harder.

Weariness settled uncomfortably on his shoulders, and gently tugged on his eyelids. He had been up all night, though he was the mission lead he insisted on taking the overnight shift at the surveillance post in what was generously called a living room. When the colony lighting system flickered on at 5 am, Guerrero, his junior agent had relieved him. He had moved to the back of the apartment and taken up residence in the master suite. Where he had collapsed against the wall, and started to trace the slices of light that peppered the floor. The lighting panels that simulated daylight were failing in this part of the colony were failing, and master suite was bathed in rosy twilight, even as the front room was filled with stark white morning.

His mind drifted as he contemplated the oddly pink rays of light. Heero thought of his last deployment. It had been the first easy assignment in months. Some kids had found an old space Leo that though was serviceable, had no legs. They had one drum machinegun. They would hide in the wreckage between the remnants of Barge, and L1 and ambush freighters delivering materials to the L5 Project. Quatre had insisted that Preventers stop them because it was impeding the rebuilding process. Several shipments of electronics, and some ration supplies had been taken. Heero thought this was more a job for the L1 Police, but Quatre had pleaded with Wufei to intercede on his behalf with Une. Wufei finally spoke to her after a week of Quatre calling at all hours crying about the gang, blaming him because he should care more that they were stopping the re-establishment of his home. Wufei tried to tell him that the colony wasn't what mattered, that never seemed to work with Quatre. Thus it came to pass, Heero was sent out to stop the pirates; mostly because of Wufei's insistence that a specialist in space battle be sent. Though it was only a two-day trip to barge, they had been caught hours before left from his 2-hour layover at L1.

Heero was furious, when he received the news that the pirates were in custody. He was fairly seeing red when it was revealed that they didn't have a singe round for their only weapon, apparently they didn't even have a beam sabre. It was like a bad joke had been played on him. He had stewed the entire flight back, thinking of the most unpleasant ways to kill Wufei and his compatriot Quatre. He was pretty well sold on a fiery death as he left L1's earth side docking bay, but by the time he reached earth both C4 and termite seemed a bit excessive. In the end he settled on the tactile pleasure of beating them senseless with his bare hands.

It was well after midnight when he had touched down, and after the debriefing it was half past 2. He had stalked up the flights of steps to the apartment he shared with Wufei. A savage fury burned in his stomach as he reached the door. He kept his face completely placid, and slipped through the aperture as quietly as he could. He found Wufei fast asleep curled up in his awful armchair. It surprised him a little. He tried to think of the last time he had seen the Chinese man even sit in that uncomfortable, lumpy article. He couldn't think of a time, not even when it was the only place to sit in the apartment. He had always known Wufei to sit on the floor. I had always confused him that Wufei insisted they keep the thing. He slinked over to Wufei, and stared daggers at him in the pale light of an open widow. A battered novel lay open, face down on the floor where it had slipped out of Wufei's hand. Heero had never seen the thing before, but it was obviously well loved. He bent down, and plucked off of the floor. He glanced at the cracked spine to identify it. He had never seen the man read for pleasure.

"Gibson?" He read aloud questioningly. He turned his gaze back to the Chinese man with a newfound wonder. He never would have guessed Wufei was a fan of classic Sci-Fi. He truthfully didn't know what to do with the information. Wufei was a quiet man, and that was why they had gotten on so well after the war, but even still he liked to think that he had a fairly good idea of whom the other man was. This one little scene had shattered everything he thought he had known. A breath of air drifted in from the open window and played with some stands of Wufei's shoulder length hair, brushing them gently over his face. This was the first time Heero had seen it loose, hanging out of his severe ponytail.

Wufei shivered in his sleep, and buried his face into the course fabric of the chair. Heero set the book down on an end table. He reached down, and gently lifted Wufei up. The man shook gently, but didn't wake. He was much lighter than he looked. Wufei nuzzled his chest grunting softly, a secret smile pulled on the corner of Heero's mouth. He carried the Chinese man back to his room. His door was already propped opened a crack, and Heero gently bumped it out with his hip backing into the room.

Heero always considered himself an extraordinarily dexterous man. Pulling back the covers on Wufei's immaculately made bed, and not dropping the other man turned out to be almost too much of a challenge for him. Twice he nearly dropped Wufei, he truthfully didn't know how the man was still asleep when he set him down between the cream sheets. He tucked Wufei in, and gently smoothed the sheets of his small frame. Heero stopped, and looked at his peaceful face. He didn't really know what possessed him in that moment. He reached down to kiss him on the forehead. Heero stood up, and turned toward to the door. A hand gripping his forearm stopped him. He looked over his shoulder to see Wufei sitting up in bed, and gripping his right arm. Heero knitted his brow at the man trying to decide if he had crossed a line, and when.

Heero remembered it in slow motion. Wufei had pulled him down onto the bed. He leaned in. Electricity flowed between their lips, pulling them closer. It tingled when they touched sending sensation dancing over his body. Heero couldn't remember feeling that way with anyone since the war, since Duo. Heero brushed the back of his hand over Wufei's cheek. Wufei Leaned into the kiss. He felt Wufei's tongue gently brush his bottom lip. His loins twitched in excitement. He opened his mouth the Chinese man, and he felt Wufei's tongue gently touch his. His breath hitched. He ran his fingers past Wufei's check. He caressed his ear, and weaved his fingers through his silken locks.

He grabbed the other man's hair and pulled his closer. Wufei's tongue pulled back. He groaned into Heero's mouth. Heero smiled and took a breath, inhaling the other man's sweet scents, jasmine and honeysuckle. He wanted more, he want to taste Wufei. He pulled away from the Chinese man's mouth, and ran his lips down the man's throat; around to the soft flesh where his neck met his shoulders. Heero could feel the man's pulse quicken on his lips. He opened his mouth and flicked his tongue out, tasting skin, sweet and salty tang. He bit Wufei, tenderly drawing his teeth, leaving a trail of goose flesh in his wake.

He nibbled his way back to Wufei's ear and gently sucked on his lobe. Wufei groaned again, louder. Heero could feel the other man's erection straining against him. Heero reached down between the sheets and gently caressed the tip of it with his middle finger through the soft fabric of his pajamas. Moisture seeped through, and painted the pad of his finger with the other man's lust. Heero exhaled gradually, teasingly in Wufei's ear. Wufei shuddered. He ran his fingers up Heero's arm, caressing his way torturous way to the back of his neck. Wufei cupped his jaw, and pressed his tumescence toward the sensation.

Heero released Wufei's ear, and kissed his way back toward Wufei's lips. He tasted saline on Wufei's cheek. He opened his eyes, and pulled away from his face to inspect the other man. He did not stop fondling, and Wufei kept his eye shut tight. He was smiling. Wufei had a single tear tracing down his chin. Heero pulled his fingers tenderly out of the other man's hair and brushed the moisture away. Wufei nuzzled the palm of his hand.

Heero brushed his fingers down tracing Wufei's jaw to his chin. Another tear followed them. He gently lifted the Chinese man's mouth back to his, and plundered it with his tongue. He stopped teasing Wufei's cock through the thin material, and brushed his fingertips up to his waistband. He slipped in. He skimmed the length of Wufei's member gently circling the base once. Wufei's breath caught, and he moaned pleasure into Heero's mouth again. Heero felt his way to the man's testies, and gently rolled them over his fingers. Wufei ground into Heero.

Heero released Wufei's mouth and licked his way down his chin. He moved away, and pulled his hand out of Wufei's pants. The other man protested with a small whimper. Heero reached under his shirt, and ran his hands up Wufei's stomach. Pooling the silk nightshirt on his wrists, guiding it up. He stopped on the Chinese man's nipples, and swirled his fingertips over them, causing Wufei to gasp. Wufei lifted his arms, and Heero steered the article off. He lightly tossed it on the floor.

He looked at the man's bare chest. Wufei had not stopped visiting the gym it seemed. His body was well toned. Heero traced the line that ran down Wufei's stomach, back down to his belly button. He was impressed, and felt his own member twitch in anticipation. He laid his hand on Wufei's sculpted chest, and pushed him down to the mattress, gently but insistently. He offered little resistance.

Heero leaned over him, and bent down to him. He kissed the man passionately, rolling his tongue energetically over his partner's. Wufei rubbed his unyielding cock against the inside of Heero's leg. Heero wanted more. He tried to break the kiss, but Wufei followed him. He sucked in Heero's bottom lip, and held it with his teeth. Heero gently pulled away. He caught a glimpse of Wufei's face, disappointment. That would not last.

Heero panted a small kiss on Wufei's chin. He opened his mouth, and dragged his tongue down his throat and tasted again the sweet and salty jasmine of Wufei's tender parts. He left a thin trail of saliva down to the man's right nipple, and sucked it into his mouth. He flicked it lightly, and whirled his tongue around it. He bit, the sensitive organ. Wufei bucked into Heero's stomach, and moaned louder.

Heero lifted his hips. He drew his hands down Wufei's naked sides, and grabbed his pajama bottoms. He guided his underwear, and pants off in one liquid motion. Wufei's penis was caught by the material, and slapped back onto his pubic mound once it was free. Wufei shifted his weight uncomfortably in response. Heero released his nipple, and dragged his tongue over the honeyed flesh toward Wufei's tumescence. He wrapped his fingers around the base of it, and guided it into his mouth. Wufei murmured lustily, and laced Heero's chocolate mane through his fingers.

Heero drew his lips up the man's shaft feeling the bumps where his veins pressed against his skin with his tongue. He pressed it back down into his mouth, preparing. He pulled back again, releasing the member for a short breath so he could nibble on the tip. He placed the tip of his tongue at the base of the man's member, and slowly licked up his urethra. Wufei's leg drew in with pleasure; Heero felt it brushing against him lightly. He reached the top of the man's penis and swirled his tongue around the head once, twice, trice, then plunged it deep into his throat. A strangled gasp came from Wufei.

Wufei bucked into his mouth hard, and called out his name. Heero could feel the man erupt in him. A hot river ran down his throat. Heero smiled, and stayed waiting for it to slow to a trickle, swallowing every last drop. They spent the night together in Wufei's room curled into each other. He had left for the Preventers headquarters, before the sun had come out the next day. He had offered to go on this mission with Trowa, and gladly took command. He was pulled back to the present, by a light rapping on the door.

"Come," he croaked wearily, and Trowa propped the door open. He was carrying two steaming cups of burnt smelling coffee in two very stained, and chipped mugs. He passed one to Heero. He didn't see where the large print out he was carrying came from, but Trowa was also offering this to him. Heero sipped the coffee, black and bitter. It was not how he liked it. He set it aside and took the print out. "What's this?"

"You were right, this Monad guy already cleaned the weapons out of this one. Apparently he is attracting the wrong kind of attention on L4 right now. He turned down Capra's offer, and is planning to sell them all at the quarterly salvage auctions," Trowa explained as Heero tried to keep the letters from dancing off the page. "Funny though, Capra offered Monad way more than they were worth. He turned him down flat, and even refused to allow him to participate. Apparently he is too dangerous to peace. Imagine, an arms dealer with a social conscience. Either way, I'd say we are done, neh?" Heero shrugged, and reached for the coffee.

"We've got activity!" Guerrero called from the other room. Trowa turned toward Heero with an unreadable look. Then he was gone, bolting to the surveillance station. Heero snatched his coffee. It slopped over the side, and stung Heero where it landed on his flesh. He ignored the pain, and rushed to where Trowa was seated with a pair of binoculars. He sidled up next to the other man. Trowa wordlessly handed them over to Heero, and pointed in the direction of the storage facility. There were two men in street clothes tying unsuccessfully to break the padlocks that secured the gated entrance, a short stout man and a tall lanky blonde.

"Guerrero, grab the Dragunov, I need you on sniping duty. Barton, come with me. We're going to get some answers," Heero bolted to the door, stopping only to check his handgun. He pulled the action, and heard a round click into the chamber. Trowa trailed only a breath behind. They made record time down the stairs and out on the street. They turned down an alley, hurtling toward the neighboring industrial block. They emerged from the alley directly across the street from their goal. They arrived in just in time to see the fat one disappear inside, but Blondie was waiting round the corner of the building.

"Duck," Trowa roughly pulled Heero a black a black compact. Heero hit the ground hard, and felt grit scrape his skin. Heero shot him an evil. Trowa wasn't looking at him; he was covering his ears and pressing his face into the gravel. Blinding light engulfed the entire area. The car lurched dangerously and threatened to topple on them. Hot air ripped around the vehicle's contours. It seared Heero's eyes. He squinted them closed.

It was over in moments. Heero was vaguely aware of a terrible ringing in his ears. He opened his eyes. It was black. He shut his eyes again. Something was jabbed him sharply in the head. He tried to brush it away. It came back stronger, and sent white shocks of pain radiating from where it hit him in the temple. He snapped his eyes open angrily. The bleary gray shape now hanging over his head resolved slowly into the barrel of a gun, and it was pointed at him.

(~*~*~)

AN:

This interim update is dedicated to Elle. Special love to Clara; I appreciate all the reviews from you and our guests.

~ shini


	4. Chapter 4

Warnings: harsh language, adult themes, naked Duo.

Fourth Chapter:

Duo slowly drifted toward the deck, limply. The micro gravity gave one last soft tug, and then he felt the freedom of zero-g; this was bad. It was comfortable though, and he felt sleep touching the corner of his eyes. He was fatigued, but the adrenaline high wouldn't let him close his eyes. He knew that if this "Archer" didn't report in soon, this corridor would be swarming with the fuckers. That last thought caused fear to slither down his spine; he needed to do something, and fast.

The dead body floating a few feet from him suspended all thoughts of sleep. His heart raced, causing immeasurable pain in his still lacerated hand. He looked down at the damned thing; the cut was clean, revealing the contrast of the sickly yellow looking fat, and the dark red lines that made his muscle layers. He turned it over to inspect it, and winced at the sharp pain that tore through his appendage. On the blade, the white of bone was showing, and there were deep grooves in it where the cable still rested. He silently thanked God that it hadn't cut into a joint, because if it had pulled on a joint he was sure that it would no longer be attached to him.

He made to unwind the bloody cord, and he watched in morbid fascination as it peeled out of his bone without so much as a tinge of discomfort. When the cable was free, blood started to ooze out of his flesh and hung with him, suspended in the air. Just before the blood covered the wound he saw something that made him want to cry, there were visible cracks in the bone. He was doomed. It was worse than useless in a fight.

He did a quick scan of the hall, looking for something to patch his hand with. His eyes locked on the normal suit the pilot had been wearing, and it struck him, a combat suit always has suture tape. Normal suits used suture tape for sealing breaches. He was still floating from the rebound off of the portal to the cockpit, and was suspended out of reach from any surface he could launch off of. At this rate he would bleed out before he needed to worry about any of archer's friends. He felt the slippery cord pull from his grasp, but the thought of multiple soldiers rushing him in the small hallway paralyzed his mind, not allowing him to care for the small gory cord.

"Shit," he muttered to himself as he surveyed his situation. The only thing he could see was the disembodied head that leisurely twisted several feet away, and still wearing the slackened grotesque echo of a grin that seemed to be mocking him. He shot it the bird. The small currents caused by his quick movements jarred the head. It swirled in the invisible eddies of the now tumultuous air. He watched it as it rode the tide of his waves of kinetic force.

It bobbed toward the bulkhead, and lightly tapped the steel partition. The thin nylon cord fluttered, wagging languidly in the gravity deprivation. This soft movement inched the cord back toward Duo. He didn't waste this second chance. He snatched the cord, and pulled the head toward him. The head jumped at that stimulus from the other side of the nylon ligature sailing through the air, and trailing gore like a macabre disintegrating marionette. It sailed toward him. He twisted vigorously, spinning his body so that his belly was parallel to what has once been the floor. Once he was in position it was a simple thing to catch his new puppet. He looped the cord around the head's face, catching it under the forehead. He reeled in the grappler's base.

Several agonizing seconds of the awkward work passed, and he felt soft leather brush his leg. He tried to hook it with his leg, sending it spinning forward. It bounced lightly off of his ribs. He snatched at it, throwing him off balance, and he began tumbling oddly. His odd gyrations wrapped the cord around his waist, as he slowly rotated toward the deck. He was overjoyed at this new development, but with no handholds this was not ideal.

He no longer needed the grappler a better opportunity had arisen; he unwound it from his waist, and pushed it away. He now tumbled headlong toward what was once the floor. He twisted to meet it. His shoulder bushed metal; he coiled his arms, and pushed hard off of the deck. He sent himself hurling feet first toward the ceiling. The light fixtures could provide the perfect anchor while he decided his next move. He landed heavily on the lamp cluster. He straddled it catching himself with his knees. The thing was made of cheap aluminum, and he felt it bend on his impact.

The screeching of the aluminum made him grate his teeth, but he had thrown himself pretty hard and the momentum was not easily lost, even upon collision. The maiming of their cheap housing displaced the long florescent bulbs. He heard the thin glass scraping against metal, and more worrisome, against more glass. Duo knew he had to do something, and fast or he was going to get a crotch full of crushed glass; he was not looking forward to picking the pieces out of his foreskin, he had to move, before they burst.

A florescent bulb flickered to life in the survival station that was set between the galley and the flight deck. The harsh light bleached the contents of the small alcove, one of which immediately caught his attention. There was another grappler cannon. He yelped, although there was no intelligible language imprinted in the discordant sound the intent was suspended somewhere between relief and excitement. He rolled his hips, which were still compressing the aluminum of the light fixture.

He rocked to his left, away from the alcove, trying to get to the metal grating of what had once been the ceiling. He snapped his legs open, releasing the light. There was a hissing, that came from the galley as it opened, although not the roar of explosive decompression, there was defiantly a leak. A dark figure floated in, with a backlit helmet. He could clearly see the clean-shaven face, and sharp, yet handsome features of the young man. Duo was tumbling toward the metal grating quickly. The world slowed as he fell toward the steel.

He slammed into the grating thunderously, and slid laterally. He felt the stinging of small lacerations from the thin metal strips digging into his skin. There was a crack that echoed through out the small chamber, and he was showered in nebula of glass. Duo curled into a ball, and cupped his genitals tightly to protect them from invading shards. The new posture lent more of his skin to the unforgiving grate that he was still sliding across loudly. Two more shots followed, hitting the grating around him with ear splitting resonance. He was still curled into the fetal position when he collided with the metal wall.

His ass and cupped hands hit first, forcing them closed on his balls. Tears welled up in Duo's eyes as he forced himself to slap his feet against the wall to propel himself toward the alcove. Duo unfurled in his flight toward his prize. He was still holding his balls, and tears still streamed out of his eyes, but he forced his body to fly toward his lifeline. He felt like he was in the air forever. He reached out his hand, and brushed the course flat webbing holding the grappler in place. Duo felt something sweep his right leg into his left pulling him off balance, and spinning him in the small space. He didn't have much room; however, and instead struck the sharp metal corners of the alcove with his left hip, and lower ribs.

His head bounced off of metal. There was an ominous pop, which he felt more than heard. Pain swallowed Duo in white hot flashes, but he was sure he felt something give in his chest. Through the pain he vaguely registered coughing, but it was too heavy and wet to be a cough, a wretch maybe. Inky black hovered at the edges of white flashes that dominated his sight. Duo blinked the white out of his eyes, and saw a nebula of what could only be his blood.

The black cloud still hovered at the edge of his vision; it was more persistent than Duo was comfortable with. He felt himself drifting away from the survival station, and panicked. He snatched at the cannon, which had drawn him to the brink of death. The restraints were no more forgiving than those of its twin on the bridge. The industrial webbing and steel latch were not apparently made to be opened in an emergency.

Duo was pissed, when would you use these damned things other than in an emergency? Duo felt, as a wounded animal the presence of the Oz soldier as it moved toward his kill. The lack of gravity can be very impeding with out the help of handholds, a fact that Duo was very happy for at this moment. Duo yanked heavily on the wrist cannon. A loud ripping filled the hall as the flat webbing gave way and the grappler burst out of the alcove, landing squaring between Duo's eyes and rebounding lightly.

He snatched above his head for it, but was rewarded only with blinding pain surging through his ribs. He could taste the pain stinging in the back of his throat. The pain paralyzed him, and the gravity of his situation weighed heavily upon him, as he watched his lifeline drift ever further from him. He had defiantly broken something.

He twisted gingerly, wincing at the slightest wrong move as he turned to face the Oz operative that was still struggling toward him in the non-gravity. The Oz soldier still had his small pistol trained on Duo as he continued his strange pantomime. Duo was having a hard time keeping his calm now with the man closing in on him, and no obvious escape routes. Duo glanced around the room with panic slowly building in the back of his mind, and taking more effort to stifle with every strange shuffling step the man took toward him.

Duo lifted his right hand in surrender, leaving his left trailing in deference to his damaged left side. The Oz soldier adjusted his pistol at Duo's left side, and jerked his gun up. He gruffly said afterwards, "Up!" Duo tried to comply, lifting his left arm slightly. All the while fighting his body's instinct to curl it around him, keeping his ribs intact.

Duo coughed heavily, and felt something thick and wet bubble up in his throat. Duo felt his abs spasm, and red-hot blades scrape through his chest. He doubled over and coughed out another nebula of thick blood. Duo curled in on himself, and wrapped his arms tightly around ribs trying to ward off the pain. The man didn't miss his chance, and sprang on Duo with unprecedented, speed.

He kneed Duo hard in the ribs. He felt bone scraping bone, and blood bubble up into his throat. It exploded out of his mouth, in a tumultuous dark cloud. Rough hands tore Duo's arms around to his back again, inflaming his chest. He tried to struggle against them, but all he got for his efforts was a sharp strike to the base of his neck. Everything blurred, and his senses faded, pulling him slowly into the dark.

Through the haze Duo could feel cold steel slam shut around his wrists, digging painfully into his flesh, and cutting off circulation. He weakly pulled at his new restraints. The man hit him again, this time harder, sending him sailing toward the still open door to the galley. Duo wasn't worried there was no gravity, and he had had training in zero G, this man obviously hadn't. Duo shifted his weight, changing his trajectory. He aimed himself at the wall next to the door.

How lucky that the man was such a novice, he had let go of Duo in this environment. Something grabbed onto Duo's hands, and yanked at his arms harshly tearing at his newly reseated right. Pain clouded his vision, as he started to fly sideways toward the gaping bulkhead. He flew through the threshold, and something snatched at the pit of his stomach. Duo noticed he was the only thing floating in the galley, but not for long.

He slammed into the floor, and slid through sharp glass, and porcelain shards. He had forgotten that he had retrofitted the ship with localized gravity generators. He did it when he had gotten the ship so that on long voyages he could customize the each room to his preferred gravity. However he had always kept the galley at a full G because it was almost impossible to eat properly otherwise, and cooking in anything less was just plain suicidal.

Duo rolled over and tried to push himself onto his knees; no small feat with hands bound, but the man was on top of him before he could steady himself. The man pushed Duo roughly, and held him down. The man dug his knee into the small of Duo's back, and forced Duo's face into the metal paneling of his floor, grinding it into the sharp remains of his flatware.

Fucked, was the only word Duo could think of to describe his current predicament. The man on top of him was speaking softly into his intercom. The man's voice wasn't altogether unpleasant, and in another situation Duo could see enjoying the man being on top of him and whispering. Duo however knew what awaited him on the other end of that line, more Oz lackeys; that was not something he would ever look forward to. There was a quiet response to his progress report, and the man seemed flustered. Duo shifted lightly in a vain attempt to get more comfortable, but that only made the hold he was in hurt worse. He shifted again, and the man shimmied to the left. Duo nearly cried at the cascade of pain that followed his simple movement.

Duo soon gave up and lay as still as he could, biding his time. Duo felt the man shift as he put his gun, back in the holster, and pull something out of his side pouch. The small movement was unpleasant but the man seemed to be consciously trying not to hurt him. Duo lay, hoping that the man would get off soon. The man snatched Duo's damaged right hand and pulled on it. Duo grunted and tried to pull it out of his reach, but with the limited range his handcuffs afforded him the motion was pathetic.

The man also gingerly picked it back up, and started wrapping something around it. Duo stopped struggling, and allowed the man to finish he field wrappings. When the man had finished with Duo's damaged hand he felt around Duo's body, running his fingers over the defined flesh of Duo's back then arms, gently searching for injury. When he stopped at Duo's shoulders he softly caressed his way down to Duo's chest, being particularly thorough over the dark bruises that were forming around the areas where Duo had hit the wall.

The man ghosted over a particularly nasty looking bruise on Duo's left side. He pressed very lightly on it. Duo jumped at the pain that cascaded out of the small touch. He hacked heavily, spraying the debris-covered floor with dark red blood. He moved his fingers down to Duo's right leg. There was a deep angry looking bruise that was sprouting up around a jagged bullet hole. He flipped Duo over to inspect his leg. The man lifted Duo's leg, and ran his hand down Duo's inner thigh, gently prodding at various intervals.

Duo shuddered at the man's touch, and to his horror it was not in revulsion. The man looked up from his work and looked into Duo's eyes. A small smile pulled at the corner of the man's lips. Duo broke eye contact, and tried not to think of the man gently feeling up his leg. The man stopped suddenly, and dropped Duo's leg. He didn't have the strength to stop it from slamming hard into the ground, and cringed at the impact.

The man reached behind him, and pulled out a wicked looking tool. Duo tried to look away as the man opened his legs and felt the inside of his leg again. Apparently he found what he was looking for, as he stabbed the tool deep into Duo's flesh without so much as a word. Duo nearly jumped out of his skin, and loudly yelped out his surprise. He twisted the thing, and Duo couldn't stifle his cry of pain. The man yanked the device back out, a small oblong, and gory object was caught in it. Duo looked at the man with tears in his eyes, and his mouth gaping in shock at him. He rewarded Duo by pulling a bullet out of the nasty looking tool, and lightly tossed it onto Duo's chest where it landed with a wet thud. Duo cringed at the sound, and felt the tickling of the sticky object as it rolled off of his chest.

Duo reopened his eyes, and watched the man patch up the bullet wound and the man's extraction point. "Why, are you doing this?" The voice was hollow, and thin. He quickly glanced around the room, looking for the wretched creature that might have uttered it. It didn't take long for him to realize that they were the only ones in the room. He looked back down at the man, who was watching him; a mixture of surprise and humor contorted his sharp features.

The man stayed silent and turned his attention back to his work. He eventually worked his way back up to Duo's chest, and stopped. He cupped Duo under the armpits and lifted him into the sitting position. He took out a strange looking tan bandage out of his utility belt, and wrapped it tightly around Duo's chest. Duo just regarded the man silently.

The fatigue was disabling, but pain and confusion kept him awake, and focused on the enigmatic soldier. The silence was a ringing in Duo's ears, as he numbly watched the Oz soldier, and even found himself appraising the young man's work with approval, to his surprise. He found himself wondering where the man had learned the art of field dressing. When he had fought with the Oz faction he couldn't remember them being so well versed in field dressing.

Duo remembered being appalled at the treatment of injured soldiers in the field. The man obviously had to be new to the whole prisoner thing, as he left his field issue medical tools within Duo's reach. Duo had several lock picks hidden in his braid, old habits. He pulled one out, and made such quick work of his restraints it was laughable, His only problem was disguising the soft clicks they made. When the man pulled on the tape the loud ripping noise was perfect. He had to wait after finding each tumbler's breakpoint till the man pulled more suture tape from the roll.

The man hadn't finished patching his chest before he was free. He inched his fingers toward the gleaming metal articles. The scalpel looked particularly promising. He snatched up the small cutting tool. The compact design fit fully, and easily into his palm. He positioned it so that it would poke out between index and middle fingers when he made a fist, and dragged his palm across the floor to rest it at his side, and prepared to use the small instrument on the young man in front of him, "We weren't ordered to kill you, Mr. Monad," the man's soft tone pulled Duo from his silent reveries. The man didn't look up from his work on Duo's chest while he spoke.

Duo balked loudly at the soldier, sending a cascade of pain through out his damaged chest, "So what do you call crashing into my fucking ship, and shooting at me then?" Duo's last question dripped out of his mouth

"An attendance request," the man replied disinterestedly, still working on bandaging the other man's injuries.

"Must be a hell of a party, if that was just the invitation," Duo replied snidely. The soldier didn't look up from his work on Duo's injuries to reply, but he could see the tell tale twitching of a suppressed smile. The man's face began to swim, and waver. Duo's eyes felt heavy, and he felt a pleasant buzz working it's way down his spine. Duo tried to think if the man had given him any anesthetic, but his mind drifted numbly. He couldn't hold a thought any longer. All he wanted, was to go back to sleep. The man grabbed Duo by the shoulders, and stared directly into his eyes. "Did you know your eyes are beautiful?" He vaguely wondered if he said that, or thought it.

The man's beautiful hazel eyes were swimming. It made Duo a little nauseous to try and focus on him. He lifted his left hand off of Duo's shoulder, and waved it under his nose. Duo tried to focus on the moving object, but a pleasant buzz in the back of his head made the man's finger leave long trails, and Duo soon gave up. He moved Duo's head gently, almost tenderly to look at the back of his neck.

"Tranquilizers," the man whispered in Duo's ear.

(~*~*~)

AN:

This is where I beg for reviews, I'm genuinely thrilled that so many people are reading this. If you like it, and you like the weekly updates let me know. Ask, & ye shall receive. Otherwise, back to fortnightly!

Special Love to Clara, and Elle. PS I think I should clarify. Chapter three was never in the original manuscript, it was specifically written for Elle. I did throw Trowa in early for Clara because as I said; this story does not necessarily follow the MoR rules anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

Warnings: violence, language, possible OOC, (sadly) no naked Duo.

Fifth Chapter:

Castor turned to Une and whispered something to her. Her face twisted, but she pointed toward an aide and they came forward with a slide projector, and another collected the manila and placed them into the cartridge. Wufei took Une's acquiescence as his queue to take a seat, which he did as quietly as he could. The one with the projector paused while it was loaded. He then positioned it toward the white board where the other pulled a projection canvas, and flipped off the florescent lights. The projector hummed to life and a picture of several Leos in various states of disassembly slowly solidified.

"We have received a report at eleven hundred hours from the L4 branch that 5 mobile suits were sold in a closed door auction today in the 51st block," Castor changed slides. The machine made a soft click, and a picture of several beam rifles replaced the Leos. "There were also several salvaged weapons for these units sold at the same auction," Castor frowned deeply and changed the slide again, this time a man appeared, and Wufei had to bite back his reaction. Wufei snapped forward, and stared at the mug shot of a man with greased back black hair, not unlike the style he wore during the war. "To this man. During the auction he was known simply as 'Bakari;' though, you may recognize him as the arms dealer, Ambrogino Capra," Une burst out of her seat and turned on the man.

"Why was I not informed of this?" she interjected, "Jesus, this information is more than nine hours old!" She was screaming, directly into Castor's ear. It was unsettling for Wufei to watch, he tried to appear as small as possible in his chair, thanking God that he was not in Castor's shoes. Castor turned toward her and lifted a finger in reproach.

"Madam control yourself, this falls under my jurisdiction," he barely had time to finish his statement before she hit him. She reached back and slapped him with the back of her hand. Wufei flinched at the harsh sound. The force of the blow threw him onto the podium. He hit it heavily, knocking it over. He tumbled on top of the wooden article, and landed awkwardly on his arm. There was a stomach-churning snap that filled the room and grated against Wufei's nerves. Castor rolled over and shrieked, cradled his right wrist. Une snapped her fingers and her aides hauled Castor roughly to his feet. He whimpered pathetically at the sudden elevation of his damaged appendage. She stepped deftly over the podium and struck him again, her blow landing heavily over the same cheek she had struck before. He fell into the aides, and looked up at her in total bewilderment. She bent down to look him directly in the eyes.

"You will report anything of this significance to me, immediately in the future!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. He didn't speak but instead slowly nodded his acquiescence. "Good," she said in velvety tones that were no less deadly, she then bent down and heaved the heavy podium back into position, "continue, Castor."

"But," is all he got out before she turned around and locked her glare on him. Wufei could feel the heat of if from where he was sitting, "Ma'am." Castor didn't say anything else until he reached the podium and then took several seconds to compose himself. "All of these items were sold by one man…" He trailed off; his voice high from the pain he was surly suffering through. He reached out his undamaged left hand and clumsily changed the slides. A picture taken at an angle from one of the docking bay cameras showed a young man directing the unloading of some of the weapons from the previous pictures. Wufei was stunned; the meter long plait of chestnut hair all but gave the man away, Duo. Every one had been looking for the American since his disappearance at the end of Dekim Barton's short-lived war on the Earth Sphere Unified Nation. "James Elliot Monad," the name rested heavily on the air in the small room.

"Duo sold these weapons?" It was an odd question, Wufei thought, he had just told them the man's name and it was defiantly not that of the wicked imp that posed as the American pilot. He looked around the room looking for who asked the stupid question. Castor had stopped presenting, and was staring at Wufei with scrutiny, a look that did not mix well with the ashen tone his face took on in response to the tremendous pain he was still experiencing. He took a quick survey of the room and again tried to sink into the cold metal of the folding chair he was sitting in. Une looked confused and mildly amused, Wufei had never liked the mix of those emotions on her face. Une had long terrified Wufei, but now that he was the center of her attention; that was something that made his scrotum tighten. A very unpleasant cackle filled the room; it was a mixture of laughter and blood curdling scream. Wufei immediately snapped his attention toward the person issuing the sound, Castor.

"That's one of the reasons you're being dispatched on this mission, Agent Chang. We want you determine as a former Gundam Pilot if this is in fact the missing pilot Duo Maxwell." Castor gasped out around barely-controlled pain. Wufei stared at him as if he had just sprouted a second head, and it had declared its self the almighty "Queen of the Snorks." Wufei stood, not able to contain the interjection that he was ejaculating before he was able to gain control of his mouth again.

"Sir, I'm not a field agent!" Burst out of him at the top of his lungs. It sounded ragged and desperate even to him. Every one in the room smiled at him, one of the aides coughed lightly, sounding suspiciously of a laugh. " I fail to see the humor in this situation. You are sending out a valuable team of Preventers personnel under the command of a verified screw-up, desk jockey!" he spat the last part in disgust as if he allowed the words to rest in his mouth they would taint him. Castor waited a few moments to respond to Wufei's question.

"Chang, there will be no team," It was almost a whisper. "You will infiltrate solo, and apprehend Mister Monad. You will then return him to Preventers headquarters where you will hold him until his trial." Wufei stared dumbfounded, at the injured man and briefly wondered just how hard Une had hit the bastard. He did a quick scan of the man's profile looking for odd lumps, hoping that he would actually sprout "The Queen of the Snorks," so that he could discount this entire meeting as a very bad dream.

"You've lost your mind," he whispered almost reverently at the man. Castor dismissed the statement, and bent down disappearing beneath the edge of the podium. There were the sounds of rustling, and mumbled curses from the front of the room. Wufei stood, and briefly saluted at commander Une who nodded curtly at him, inviting him to speak. He opened his mouth as if to speak to the woman. He snapped his jaw shut with a light click, and spun on his heel toward the rear exit. He hurried toward the door, there was no way he was going to accept this mission.

"Wufei," rang out after him. The harsh tone of Une's voice made him freeze. "Where do you think you are going, agent?" Wufei slowly turned toward the formidable woman, steeling himself for the assault that he was sure was coming. He stood at attention as she stood up and stalked over he stood, and towered over him. For the first time he appreciated just how much taller the European was than him self, but at five foot four inches that really wasn't much of an achievement. "Agent Chang," she puffed out her chest, and as pressing against him; even with the mammary tissue pressing into his neck, she struck an imposing figure. A lump built up in his throat, catching in his trachea with every breath he took. Building suspense quickened his breath as he met Une's stare with quiet defiance. "I asked you a question, Soldier!" she barked harshly.

"Out of the briefing room, Sir!" he responded before his brain caught up to him, this wasn't the military, this was a civil action Police force. One could easily forget that with the belligerent ex-Colonel in near company. Wufei could see straight up her nose, an effect that was amplified when her nostrils flared at his response.

"Agent Chang, explain!" she barked at his forehead, the force of her last word sprayed the roots of his limp bangs with spittle. He wasted no time in responding to her knowing that even a slight delay could be disastrous for him in her state. What she did to Castor would look almost charitable compared top the ungodly onslaught he would suffer if he showed even a hint of defiance.

"Ma'am," he shouted back, "I am not qualified for this assignment." He inwardly cringed at the look that writhed across her face at his statement, it as a mixture of twisted pleasure and pure malice. It was the face of a jackal. It deserves to be said here, that Une had calmed down significantly after the war; however, when a major engagement occurred between Preventers and the larger weapons cartels; Une would seem to regress into the blood thirsty lunatic that Wufei had seen too often during the war. "I belong behind a desk, Ma'am. The incident in L4 was proof of that," He was sure that he had just signed his death warrant.

"Whom then, would you send for his extraction, Agent," her voice again took on the velvety tones that she had used with Castor. The softer tone made him even more uncomfortable, bordering on sheer terror. He could feel a cold sweat rolling down his back, leaving a trail of goose flesh in its track. He cleared his throat, frantically searching his mind for any one. His mind was strangely blank of names, but as the mission coordinator for the Weapons Expungment Branch there were easily 20 agents he knew that could have more than filled his shoes in this type of mission. He opened his mouth before he was entirely ready to speak causing a few seconds of silence to settle uneasily over the room.

"Jones," finally came out of him mouth after several seconds of floundering under Une's intense scrutiny. She smiled to his surprise it seemed softer than before, the malice seemed to melt out of her face, an illusion that Wufei was weary of. Her inflated chest seemed slightly less imposing, and indeed seemed less engorged.

"And if this Monad does prove to be 02, do you think that any one less than a Gundam pilot could retrieve him. Maxwell, as memory serves was an expert at infiltration and stealth, two fields that lend themselves well to evading and escaping capture," She had never stopped using Oz's code system for the pilots. In fact she only referred to the three pilots that worked for Preventers by their names. It was not uncommon for her to refer to Quatre as 04, a fact that bothered him tremendously. He would avoid her, if at all possible; going as far as refusing all invites to Preventers functions with Trowa, and instead insisting that he attend all Winner family and corporate functions that just so happened to fall on the same days as their Preventers counterparts, for the last three years.

"Then I respectfully request that Heero Yuy, take this assignment," He blurted out, as soon as Une had finished speaking, coming dangerously close to cutting her off. A small chuckle bubbled out of her. It was disconcerting to watch, as she never lost her murderous composure during the entire uncomfortable affair.

"Do you seriously think Yuy would surrender Maxwell to Preventers custody?" Wufei flushed, and memories flooded his mind of the war. Most especially of Heero and Duo. Jealousy welled up in him as he thought of how they had been; even the slightest touch had been erotic. Even sitting across the room you could feel the electricity between them. He had hated Heero then, a burning jealousy that almost killed him, but that had been before he had left. He and Heero had found common ground, and it eventually blossomed into romance. Not for the first time that day he didn't trust his voice to answer her, but he didn't need to. She almost tenderly laid her hand on his shoulder, and lightly guided him back to his seat. He fell heavily into the sheet metal of the cheap, gray folding chair. It squealed as his heavy weight caused the small rubber feet to loose traction on the white tile of the briefing room.

She bent down and whispered in to his ear, "Bring him back Wufei." She left him collapsed in his chair, and stepped toward the door, her stiletto-ed high heels clicking loudly with each step. She paused at the door and turned toward Castor who was now fumbling awkwardly with the latch to a laptop that he had extracted from a small bag at his feet. "I expect a full report at the end of this." She waived her hand grandiosely, "farce of a briefing." She stared at the man until he gave her a timid nod. She did not respond, instead she wrenched the door open, and slammed it heavily behind her.

(~*~*~)

Wufei sat in stunned silence. The briefing had ended several minutes ago, and Castor had hobbled out of the room soon after the briefing had concluded, leaving him to brood over the assignment that he tried to turn down. He couldn't stop thinking about the American at the center of this mission. He wasn't at all sure if he was ready to face him again. Duo hadn't even bid farewell to Quatre, and Trowa on the hillside overlooking the remains of their Gundams. He had just picked up and left. Wufei didn't blame him, though. He had thought many times about disappearing himself, he wasn't sure that he could have done it; at least not as effectively as Duo had.

Wufei couldn't help but feel a little excited at seeing the other pilot again, and hated himself a little for it. This had been the basis for his tension with Yuy. Despite himself Wufei felt a stab of the old jealousy wash over him, as he relived that last night on Peacemillion when they were all together. Heero and Duo had retired together to Duo's cabin. Wufei hated Heero in that moment. That was the night he knew Duo was out of reach forever. There had been whispers of the two floating around the ship for weeks prior, but Wufei had dismissed them as baseless gossip. He tried to cozy up to the longhaired beauty. Taking any assignment that would place them together. He even went as far as to pretend his terminal was malfunctioning once just to get the American to lean in close to him. Well, maybe twice. That little fantasy was shattered that last night in the mess when Heero had taken Duo by the hand to his own cabin.

"Oh God," Wufei whispered to himself at the realization that he never stopped caring for Duo. His feelings had just been shocked into silence by his disappearance. Now they started to well up despite him, and he could feel his chest tighten. If this was Duo, how could he contemplate surrendering him to trial and prison, or worse? Wufei slumped a little further into his seat, and decided that there had never been a wretch as pitiful as himself. The door slammed open; Wufei nearly climbed out of his skin.

"So, what did Yuy do to deserve this urgent meeting of the minds?" Came a drawl from the door. Wufei rounded on Sally livid, and did his best to shoot lasers out to his eyes at the woman. For her part she acted like he had graciously invited her in, and she took the invitation. He resolutely ignored the intrusion, and stood brushing his borrowed uniform with the back of his hand like her presence was an unsightly film he could remove with polite primping. He began to maneuver past her toward the door. "Nothing this venerated desk jockey has to clean up tonight, I hope. He still has a prior engagement," she continued, and deftly stepped in front of him. He stopped; it was as if a lead weight landed in the pit of his stomach. He had forgotten her accosting him in his office. This was not something he was looking forward too. "Oh God, he isn't dead," She reached out and grabbed his shoulder in what was obviously meant to be a reassuring gesture. "…Is he?" Wufei gently, but pointedly removed her appendage.

"No, this was my assignment," he replied feigning disinterest. This couldn't be further from the truth. He heart beat a little faster just using the words. Sally wasn't having any such dismissal. She grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, and scrutinized him. "Let. Go," he whispered dangerously. She complied but didn't move from in front of him.

"That's ridiculous, Wufei. You don't have a printout, no mission briefing is given with out a printout. Besides, I happen to know for a fact you are on permanent desk assignment." Sally accused. Fiery anger coiled in Wufei's stomach. He became suddenly aware that he was not holding the print out with the summary of his mission that had been provided him at the end of the briefing. He was frantic; he turned around, and scrutinized where he had been sitting until the annoying woman had intruded. He rushed to his seat. He caught a glimpse of a manila envelope under the chair in front of his, and he snatched at it. He swirled in place, and crisply snapped the packet in front of her face. She did something he didn't really expect. She plucked it neatly out of his grasp. Reading another agent's orders didn't break any major code of conduct; it was simply unheard of. Wufei didn't quite know how to react as the woman smartly popped open the envelope, and extracted his orders. Worse she began reading them aloud.

" Forward: Field Agent Chang Lieutenant JG," she paused to gloat, "you got a promotion. Good, dinner won't be cheap," Wufei was fuming. He tried to swipe them out of her grasp. She was too dexterous for him, and avoided him easily. She went back to reading, "Agent Chang is to report immediately to L4 Colony Offices, and pursue the suspected Arms Dealer Monad, James Elliot until such time as he is apprehended. Further, agent Chang is to report any and all similarities suspected, implied, or overt to the Gundam Pilot…" She trailed off, and immediately began flipping through the papers to see a photograph of the man. Wufei took the opportunity afforded by her brief astonishment, and a little too roughly seized the envelope. His forcefulness creased the paper, and impeded his attempts to shove them back. " When are you leaving?" she asked in a strange far off voice.

He looked up from the mess that was his mission brief and replied a little viciously, "The orders said immediately," Wufei wasn't sure which expression he wanted to see more on her face, disappointment or frustration. On second thought he would have settled for crestfallen. He had beaten her, and there was nothing she could do about it; he had the paperwork to back it.

"Well, you'll need a ride then," she bubbled. A sour smile seeped across Wufei's face. She would try anything. He needed no such thing from her. He reached for his pocket to fish out his keys, just to show he was a perfectly functional adult capable of driving himself to the spaceport, thank you very much. He brushed the smooth pant leg of Heero's uniform. There were no pockets. "Looking for something?" she inquired sweetly. The color drained from his face

"Where are they?" he whispered. She pulled out his keys from her jacket pocket, and jingled them lightly. "Give them back," he attempted to muster as much menace as he had left. It was not impressive.

"Where are what?" she smirked. He made a lunge for them. Again she was too fast for him. "Does Castor really know what kind of slug he is sending out into the field?" she mused, and placed the palm of her hand on his forehead gently pressing him back to keep the keys out of his each. She was still taller than him. He remembered musing once that she was some kind of Chinese Amazon. It had seemed funny at the time, now it was just annoying. "I'm sure you couldn't be looking for these…" she teased aloud, and dropped his keys neatly into her cleavage. Wufei gave up. He wearily gestured toward the door inviting her to walk with him. "You know, I always thought you were the cutest when you pouted," she jibed. He had no response, but he contorted his mouth into a half-smile attempting, unsuccessfully, to hide his sulking. She stopped at the closed door, and waited for him to open it for her. She scrutinized his face on her way into the stark windowless hallway.

"You know, that's even cuter," she chortled. Wufei was sure he had never hated anyone more. He followed her musing over all the unpleasant things he wanted to happen to her at that moment. He had always wanted to see what some one looked like when their skin melted off, but he was equally drawn to the idea of locking her head in a box full of rats. He was also immensely fond of a good old-fashioned tar and feathering. Wufei lamented these were all mutually exclusive. He began trying to find creative ways of combining them. Which just lead to silly images of Sally running around with her hair on fire, covered in boiling tar, trailing feathers, and being chased by giant rats. It wearied him to think of ways of obtaining rodents of unusual size and abandoned the entire affair before they got to the elevator.

(~*~*~)

AN: Wow begging really does work. Well here I go again, back on my knees... Pwease?

Anyway Special love to Elle, you were right. The briefing had nothing to do with Heero, but I had to capitalize on the uncertainty; thus Chapter Three. Cookies if you can guess who the soldier was. I promise you it was much more mundane than the guess you ventured so far, almost dilettante.

Jodez, thank you so much for the review; I'm one of those silly people who think any story is told through the details, but I will try to be conscious of the minutia. PS you asked, and you shall receive. I don't think I could keep up with biweekly I still have to finish or polish some of the chapters, but weekly I can do. If it becomes feasible biweekly will be done for you. :)

CheZaswulf, I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Updates every Friday, I hope to hear from you again soon.

Love to Clara, and all the anonie's out there!


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Happy Memorial Day! In honor of our veterans I'm posting this week's chapter today!

Warnings: violence, language.

Chapter 6:

"Yoh, who be dis maafoedi wichoo Trowa Barton?" Blondie drawled from behind his gun. The man only had one gun, and it was pointed at Heero. Heero looked over at Trowa questioningly, he trusted Trowa, but the man obviously knew him by name. Trowa's face betrayed nothing, and looked away from Heero toward the man. Heero could just make out a scowl. Trowa had already been on his knees, and was slowly reaching for his holster. "Ag, Barton, don't choo tune me. You not want to see no hole in yo' china's head, ne?" Trowa's hand wavered, and stopped. He spread his arms to show his acquiescence. "Get up, arms behind yo' head," the man bobbed his head slightly to illustrate what he wanted from Trowa. Trowa stood very slowly, and began to turn. The man's aim drifted toward Trowa, and very briefly was not pointed at Heero.

Heero took advantage of Blondie's brief distraction, and snatched the small black handgun. The man grunted loudly. He twisted it viciously trying to tear it out of the man's grasp. Blondie was surprisingly strong. Heero couldn't get it away from him. He reached up his other hand, and tried to reinforce his grip, only to land on the man's left hand, and be swatted away. Heero punched at him, and tried to swat his hands away. Heero twisted again and jerked the weapon as hard as he could. He felt Blondie squeezing the trigger and tired to force the gun around, but again the man proved to strong. Heero felt he barely had the weapon facing away from him when it went off. The slide carved into Heero's palm, and seared his flesh. It took all Heero's self control to hold onto the blistering thing. The man wasn't fighting with him anymore, but the pain wouldn't let him claim the weapon. He was stuck, not able to hold on, and not able to let go.

The shot rang in Heero's ears. What felt like several seconds later blood splattered over Heero's chest and face. He tried to cringe away from it, and squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn't fast enough. It poured over him. He breathed it in as it gushed onto his face. He tasted rust, and his chest burned; he coughed and retched. It felt like he was drowning. His eyes flew open automatically. It rested uncomfortably in them, and stung. Heero rolled away from the man trying to escape the stuff, tucking the weapon into his chest. He pulled the still burning weapon out of Blondie's grasp. It came away too easily. The man had to have let go.

Heero lay on his back. He felt the other man's blood come back up and rest in his throat uncomfortably. He choked several times, trying to fight the urge to be sick. He lost. Heero rolled onto his stomach, and pushed his body up, bending at the knees. He spewed Blondie's blood out of his mouth. He heaved so strongly it started to dribble out of his nostrils and tickle his upper lip. He wanted to wipe it away, but his muscles locked and more of the stuff surged out of him. He shut his eyes tight still trying to fight his body's violent rejection of the stuff. Red tears streamed out of his eyes pushing out some of the blood in them. He convulsed horribly again, and vomited more of the man's blood.

It was incredible how much he had swallowed. Fatigue washed over him, and his arms started to quiver with the effort of keeping him up. He stopped gagging for a short time, and tried to catch his breath. Every breath made him more ill. He gingerly collapsed onto his side, and retched softly a few more times. There was nothing left to purge. He felt his puddle of sick tickle his face, and he smelled the bile in it. He opened his mouth, and retched again at the smell. Nothing came out. He couldn't close his mouth at the urge to let out more, and some of the puddle leaked back in. The taste of vomit was seasoned with street grime, and now had a vile, bitter, after taste. Heero spit the stuff violently forming bubbles in it. They burst speckling flecks of evil smelling gore over his face. He wiped at it weakly.

His eyes stung terribly. Tears still streamed out of them. He gingerly tired to open one. He saw bleary red tinged speckles of light through the opaque blood. He rolled onto his back huffed. His chest was heavy, and his arms were too far away. Heero flopped his right arm onto his face heavily. He hit his nose a little too hard, and it stung. He was too tired to care. He rubbed at his eyes weakly with the back of his hand. It made no difference. His hands were so covered in blood; all he succeeded in doing was putting more of it on his face.

He wiped again, turning his face down his sleeve. He started to get a little traction. He felt the rough polyester of his uniform scrape his face. He opened his eyes to try and work them clear. The material rasped the sensitive organs, and he snapped them shut. Fresh tears welled up and burned where the abrasive material damaged his eyes. There was so much blood on his jacket that it hardly made a difference at first, and he had to work down toward his shoulders to work the stuff out. It was several seconds, and he was into the stitching of his armpit before he could open his eyes. He fully expected with every passing moment that the man would pounce on him. It never came. He was starting to wonder why.

Heero peeked his right eye open first. The light seared, and his eyes still watered uncomfortably. Everything looked bleached, but he could see. The car in front of him was a scorched ruin. All of the windows had been blasted out, and the paint was all but gone. The smell of burnt plastic hung heavy in air round it. Thick acrid, black smoke was pouring out from under the hood. There were no obvious flames on the thing. Heero decided the fire had to be confined to the engine compartment. This meant the fuel was going to go up soon. They had to get away from it, and soon or they might find themselves joining fatty. He rounded on Trowa.

Trowa lay on his back cradling his right side. Heero jumped to his feet, adrenilian washed through his veins burning out his weariness. He grabbed the other man, and roughly hauled him up. He yelled at the man to get to cover. He paused after ushering Trowa off, and searched for the blonde man. Heero saw him almost instantly. He turned, and ran back to Blondie. He was lying despondently on the ground. Heero grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him by it. They retreated back into the ally, and turned a corner. Hoping it would protect them from any explosion from the small car. Trowa shambled after them. He collapsed heavily on the other side of the dirty alley against the rough cobblestone wall. He slid down the rough stone leave uneven trails of himself, and watched Heero impassively. Heero for his part roughly threw the man against the wall so he could face the car, and rounded on him.

"Who are you, and what do you want with James Monad?" Heero started right into the interrogation, not even inspecting the man for damage. He was furious, and wanted answers now. The man coughed, spraying the gravel with blood. He hunched over in pain, and wretched blood all over his lap for several seconds. Heero became impatient. He loomed over the man, and planted his heel into Blondie's shoulder. He roughly kicked him into a sitting position. He held him upright with his foot, and ground the heel in the man's shoulder. Blondie whimpered in responce, and Heero bent his knee to get in as close as he could. It was an awkward position to the man's face, but Heero felt it was more menacing. The added pressure made the man gasp lightly. "I asked you a question," he whispered darkly. The man coughed again, and blood flecked his lips. The man strained, and tried to speak. No sound came out. Heero ground his heel after several moments.

"Fuck you, Pigman," Blondie managed hoarsely. He spit in Heero's face; it was feeble, and he ignored it. Blood was dribbling down the man's chin. Heero took some time to inspect the man. He couldn't, or wouldn't move his other arm. Heero realized there was a hole in his chest that look suspiciously like an exit wound. Blood was coming out of it in strong currents. He smiled sadistically at the man. He now knew how to get what he wanted from him.

"You're dying," Heero said simply, almost nonchalantly, "but there is still time to cause you pain," Heero gloated the last bit around a charming smile. The man glared back at Heero, but said nothing. Heero made a show of pointing his index finger at the man. He drifted it down to the wound and traced the edge of it lightly. Blondie sucked in with pain. Heero felt a gentle sucking coming from the wound. He was lung shot, and it occurred to him that his bluff might be more right than he had thought. The man didn't respond, so Heero roughly stuck his finger in the man's chest. Blondie grimaced, and hissed through his teeth loudly. He could feel the man's lungs constrict from the inside with the pain.

Heero could also felt the man's heart; there was groove in it where the bullet passed through. It started beating faster in response to Heero's intrusion. "Who. Are. You?" Heero repeated each syllable slowly. He emphasized them with a small jerk of the finger that was currently inside the man's lungs. The man's grimace deepened with each twitch and finally, he violently shook his head, no. Heero twisted his finger without a word, and started digging in further. He scraped as much of the man's organs as he could reach, trying to get closer to the tender heart.

"I ain't no one!" He screamed in response to Heero's persuasion. Heero twisted a little more. "I told you, I ain't no one!" He pleaded pathetically through dry sobs and more wet coughs. Heero stopped. The man's shoulders heaved, catching as he loudly tried to catch his breath and sob at the same time. The man's chest constricted uncomfortably on Heero's finger, but Heero was patient, and waited till his breath was a little steadier. The man took several seconds for hid breath to slow. Heero wanted noting more than to remove his finger and leave the fucker to die, but he needed more information. They were charged with tracking down Monad, and this was the first thing resembling a lead they had in weeks. The man's breath was still catching, but Heero decided to proceed with the interview.

"Alright, what do you want with James Monad, No one?" Heero gave his finger a sharp twist, and he felt the man's heart skipped several beats. He would be dead soon. The man cried out in response to Heero's finger in his chest, but he couldn't form coherent words though. Heero twisted again. The man lurched hard against Heero, who still held him up with his boot. His eyes opened wide. They were blood shot and wild, but they didn't focus. The man tried to speak, but nothing came out.

Red bubbles formed on his lips, as his mouth filled with red saliva. Heero was getting nowhere with the man. He resigned, and pulled his finger out. The man started to gag on his own blood. The hole Heero's finger had been in started to pouring gore out. Heero dropped his foot heavily to the blood-soaked gravel, kicking up grit and fluid sprinkling the man with it. The man doubled over without Heero to support him, and retched blood. It washed over him, drenching his lower half in more bright crimson. Heero watched him for several seconds in miffed silence. He was close enough to dead; there was nothing else to learn. He abandoned the man.

Heero felt sick, all that for nothing. He turned toward Trowa, another dead end, they were starting from the beginning again. A thin crackling sound filled the alley from behind Heero. He swung his head around to see where it was coming from. Blondie was laughing at him, his shoulders heaved unnaturally. He rolled his head up to look at Heero. His face was ghastly white. His bloodshot eyes had dark purple swollen bruise like rings hanging under them. He locked his gaze with Heero. Heero didn't move, he din't breathe, he just waited for the man to finish.

"We was gettin' die leftovers for baas, Capra. Wants die good stuff, dat Monad refuse to," Blondie last word was cut off. Heero heard himself take a breath. Abrogino Capra was the most wanted war criminal from the Oz conflict, and had recently reemerged as a arms dealer, which scored him another most wanted with Preventers. He waited for the man to finish. Blondie vomited more blood, but he didn't break eye contact this time. It was disturbing to watch. Heero scowled at the man darkly, but still kept his silence. If he could get information on Capra, Monad meant nothing. They sat in silence contemplating each other. Heero gave in; he wanted information before it was too late.

"Where is Capra?" Heero broke the silence. He knew the man probably didn't know. His were the lowest kind of thug, not someone a careful person like Abrogino Capra would trust sensitive information to. The man tried to speak, but retched again. Nothing came out, but a small dribble of thick red saliva. The man just shook his head leaving strings of thick bloody mucus running down his chin. Heero interpreted this as an, I don't know. He turned back around. The man knew nothing useful, and he had more important things to attend. Trowa still hadn't moved from where he had fallen against the other wall. He still watched Heero impassively. Heero felt a stab of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't feel his legs as he walked over to Trowa. The ex-pilot didn't even stir at his approach. He bent down next to the other man and reached out a hand to pull back the dark, wet jacket he wore. He touched the course fabric lightly.

"I know where dis Monad be," The man's voice was thin and hollow. It startled Heero, and his hand twitched, he lost his grip on the fabric. It folded back into position with a soggy slap. He looked over his shoulder at the man. Blondie coughed weakly and smiled. "Dis got choo peaked?" The man tried to goad Heero. The impact was lost through the gruesome image he struck. "I tell you where die mampara be in die spirit o' ubuntu, but you do me back, eh? You tell dat bitch Marsha," his voice trailed off and he shuddered with feeble coughs. Heero felt the words trickle down his spine.

He tried to speak. He tried to yell. He wanted to demand how the man knew so much about his team, but he only managed a small grunt. He couldn't make sense of the man. The man had too much information, and they had nothing on him. He tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. Heero couldn't feel his legs. He was vaguely aware that his legs were starting to sway under him. His head spun. The man had marginally recovered, but Heero's ears rang so loudly he almost missed what the man was saying.

"You tell bat bitch, Marsha, she can fuck off fo' dis," confusion started to seep in around the shock. The man apparently read it on his face. He pointed to his chest, to the bullet hole there. Heero didn't respond, and only watched the man; trying to peel back some of the layers of this mystery. Heero didn't like mysteries, they gave him a bellyache, and he had a doozie of one right about now. He knew if he interrupted; though, that he would loose his lead on Monad. He nodded curtly. "Den Pigman, you get to the shoal zone on die L4 side. You best be hurrying doh, die baas be leaving him a warm welcome…" He trailed off. He had slumped further into his chest. Heero tried to stand, but his legs swayed too violently.

He steadied himself against the wall, and pushed himself up. He turned, and walked over to the man. He crouched over him. He put his fingertips to the man's neck, checking for a pulse. There wasn't one, and blood no longer came out in strong currents from his chest. Only a thin trickle still dripped from the bullet hole. He was dead. He lifted the body's face by his chin. He searched the man's face.

"How did you know Guerrero's first name?" Heero whispered at him. He didn't truly expect a response from the man, but he hoped. He slid his finger out from under his chin. Bondie's head flopped heavily back to his chest. He let his arm fall to his side, and thought of the shoal zone, it was almost a week out from L1 and was a little more than two and a half day across. He would have to get a move on if he wanted to catch Monad before Capra got to him. He turned his head toward where Trowa lie. This was going to be a problem. He walked over to his partner, and placed a finger on his neck to check for a pulse.

(~*~*~)

Special love to Elle, as for your question… Une didn't choose Wufei for the mission. Castor did, and Wufei never confided those feelings.


	7. Chapter 7

Warnings: Language, Violence, Naked Duo!

Seventh Chapter:

The man began to run his fingers over his flesh. Duo felt a sharp pain, and instinctively swung out, the scalpel was protruding from his fist just between his ring and middle fingers. The man dropped Duo, and his head fell back limply. It cracked heavily on the wall the man had propped him up against. Duo lightly grazed the man and, he felt the metal of his scalpel scrape bone.

Pain woke Duo up fully, and he rolled toward the hallway Archer's body still filled; spinning in it's grotesque mockery of former glory. Duo balled his legs and abdomen, and shimmed his arms under them, maneuvering them to the front of his body like some overgrown toad. The man in the other room was on his feet and heading toward him, fast. Duo caught sight of what he had come into the sealed hallway for, Archers gun. He lunged for it.

As he unfurled in the negative gravity pain shot up his leg, and rested horribly in his ribs. He cried out. His launch was imperfect. He spun awkwardly down the short hallway, and was upside down before he was halfway to his goal. He tried to correct with small twists of his legs and torso. This was a mistake. Pain roiled over his body. It was almost unreal. Duo couldn't move, he couldn't breathe. His head collided heavily with Archer's groin. Duo couldn't stop himself, and his body wrapped around his head and the object. His spine popped as the momentum stretched him the wrong way. Duo felt bone rubbing on bone in his chest. He screamed as agony tore through his body. A shot rang out mixing thunderously in the small metal space. They hit the wall, hard.

Duo crumpled back into Archer's body, and writhed hideously. The bullet was still ricocheting off of the metal plating. There was a loud pop. The emergency alcove's florescent bulb burst. More glass shards filled the small space. Small speck of glass peppered Duo's exposed flesh, tearing it mercilessly. He snatched at Archer's gun trying to pry it out of the dead man's fist. Rigor mortis had already begun setting in, and Archer's fist was like a rock. Another shot rang out from the galley door. Duo was sprayed with cold, dead blood. Duo twisted the gun viciously. He broke Archer's fingers. The gun came away with a crackling. It was as though he had taken several twigs, and snapped them all at once.

He aimed the gun as best he could in his left hand. He used his right forearm to try and level his shot, and fired at the man as the tried to jump back behind the doorframe. Duo heard him flop heavily in the shards of his flatware. Duo heard the tinkling of porcelain, and knew he was sliding. Duo maneuvered to the hallway's ceiling, and gently pulled himself toward the door. He hoped against hope, that this was the end of it. That he had finally won, and could go about trying to fix his ship, or getting some help. He reached the door and slid down the wall toward the aperture, making sure his entire body was covered by the sturdy metal.

His heart raced as he hovered, curled up against the wall. His hand and legs throbbed terribly with each beat. He tried to slow it with a deep breath. It stabbed and burned like a knife in his side. He had to suppress a fit of coughing, lest the other man know where he was. If he was still alive, that is. He curled further into himself holding his ribs. The knife twisted deeper with each spasm. Tears filled his eyes then shed in uneven beads. They drifted away, and created a third shimmering nebula in the gravity deprivation. Only to be shattered, and fragmented as Duo lurched through it with every gruesome convulsion. The final fit ended with a resonating pop that knocked the wind out of him. Something bubbled up his chest, and erupted out of his throat in a wet retch. Globules of blood and saliva mixed with his tears. Duo decided too much of him was going to stay in this hallway when he left it. There was a shot from the galley. It ricocheted loudly off of the lip of the hallway. Duo flinched away from the deafening sound.

"Fuck, are you still alive?" Duo called to the man. Duo wasn't really sure if he was bothered or not. On one hand the man obviously wanted him incarcerated, or worse. Usually organizations like OZ don't keep prisoners very long. On the other hand, it would be such a shame to kill the man. He was actually quite good looking. Arousing and dark images of a dungeon with him strapped to a rack came unbidden to his mind. He shook his head, disturbing the cloud of his fluids hanging in the air around him. It took him more time than he really liked to come up with an answer to that, but in the end he decided freedom was better then an exceeding short life under the man's care. "I always thought I was a damn good shot! Even with my left," Duo finished. The man chuckled a little weakly.

"I've never known tranks to kill a man," was his reply. Duo didn't know how to respond to the information. He took a few moments to examine when Archer had shot at him. He had really hit, that's where the trank dart the man in the other room found had come from. He unconsciously rubbed the back of his neck. Tiny sharp pains stung the back of his neck where the needle had invaded.

"I thought you OZ bitches, didn't use the damn things?" Duo questioned the man. He didn't think he liked where this was headed. As quietly as he could, Duo ejected the magazine out of the small handgun's butt. He slid one of the rounds out. Sure enough there was a needle imbedded in the rubber slug. He marveled at it for a few moments.

"We don't," the man replied almost nonchalantly. Fatigue was touching the man's voice noticeably now, and he slurred the last word. Duo digested the information the man had given him. It didn't make any sense to him. These soldiers were obviously from one Oz faction or another, though he hadn't heard of any military activity recently unless he counted that nonsense with the barge 'Pirates.' Generally, he didn't. There was a soft snore from the other room, and Duo knew the man was incapacitated. He didn't bother to reload the gun, and just left it and the magazine hanging suspended. He swung himself into the galley, and landed hard on the sharp shards of porcelain. He stumbled with the force of his landing, cutting his feet.

"Fuck me!" He hissed between his teeth, and hobbled over to the now sleeping man. He surveyed the man hoping to see where he had hit him with the dart. He was disappointed. The man had pulled it out, and was still holding it. He growled at him, and kicked the man in the ribs, hard. He only succeeded in stubbing three of his toes. He grabbed his foot and hopped on his other, grinding shards of his flatware into his heel. He swore louder, "Fuck, fuck, double fuck!" He could swear he saw the man smile at him in his sleep, mocking his failures. "I bet you think that's funny, don't you…" He checked the man's nametag so he could properly vent at him, "Don't you Jackson?" Duo didn't like the man's name; it was too generic. He decided to rename him something foul. "I bet you like the name, Poozork better don't you Ensign Poozork?" Duo cooed at him sweetly through a grotesque mockery of a smile. He didn't remember where he had heard the insult probably some ancient film where they invented their own vocabulary for such things, or something equally silly.

"I bet you won't like what's going to happen now," Duo continued to coo at him. "Well, young Poozork, this is where I leave you in a leaking ship, and take your normal suit!" Duo was already undoing the latches on the lip of his helmet. The backlighting in the helmet snapped off. Duo pulled the helmet out of the airtight grooves with a small hiss. The air was starting to get thin, and he did not want to be naked when there was nothing left to leak.

The man's normal suit was almost a perfect fit; the boots were his only problem. They were a size and a half too small, and pinched his already battered toes something awful. They had initially refused to slide on. He had struck an odd figure, awkwardly fumbling with them one handed. They did relent eventually, and a soft pop echoed through the room as his heel hit the soft padding on the inside of the boot. He took a quick stroll around the galley checking to see if he could handle them. It only took a few steps to decide to abandon them here. They did complete the seal on the normal suit though, and if he continued without boots he was going to loose parts of himself to frost bite.

He made his way to the hallway, gingerly taking each step. It didn't help. Every footfall was worse than the last. He finally gave up, and plopped down on the floor to remove Jackson's boots. Getting them off was harder than getting them on. They had already sealed to his feet causing them to constrict. This usually didn't present much of a problem, but they were a size and a half too small. He felt his Achilles tendon stretch as he pulled on the heel of the boot. He shimmied the boot, to no avail. He groaned loudly under the strain. He curled his leg to his chest, and bent his head. Pain was building in his chest again. The boot gave, and smacked him square in the face.

"Fuck me, what is it today with my goddamned face?" He roared at the article, and grabbed it. He looked at Poozork with rage, "Are you proud of this?" He realized how stupid it was to blame the man, but he didn't care. He snatched the boot, and hurled it at the man. It dropped heavily on his face. Poozork rolled over and brushed his face like nothing more than a bothersome insect had landed there. He had just as much trouble removing the other boot, but moved his face out of the way just in time to scrape his chin with the rubber siding of its sole. Duo finally decided this was with out a doubt, the worst day ever. Archer's headless body came to mind again, his legs were fine. He flipped Poozork the bird, and stumbled toward the hallway, carefully picking around the shards of flatware. When he reached the hall he swung himself into the null gravity with alacrity, and smacked dab into the tranquilizer gun that he had left at face level. He dodged to the left, and tried to bat it out of the way with his right. Pain stabbed straight down his arm from his palm.

"Fuck this hallway, fuck Poozork, and fuck you very much Archer!" He roared at the dead man. He grabbed at the ceiling, and pulled himself to the man. Duo snatched his boot. It wouldn't come off. He tried to snap his wrist on the heel of the boot. The body flopped toward him, and smacked him in the chest. This was not going to work in Zero-G. He hauled the body to the galley, and roughly threw it through the open bulkhead. It slammed into the metal partition, and Duo tired to follow it.

He landed on the thing, but rigor mortis had frozen Archer in a contorted heap. The body rolled under Duo, and he collided with the wall. His new helmet bounced off of metal, and scrapped as he slid down. He didn't move for a few seconds. He checked for any new injuries. There was nothing immediately identifiable. Finally he decided to get to work on Archer's boots. Duo shuffled back over to Archer, and planted a foot in his crotch. He pulled on his boot; it popped off easily to his satisfaction. He smiled as he sat down to try it on.

"You would tell me if you had athlete's foot right?" Duo chided as he pulled the thing on. It fit perfectly. Duo smiled and turned toward the body, "You're a gentleman, and a scholar." He stated in his haughtiest tones. It sounded ridiculous even to his ears. So he decided to stick out his tongue at him. He stood to check that the seal in the new boots was solid. He felt them constrict and form fit to his ankles. They were still comfortable. He took a few steps, and delighted in the crunching of his flatware on the other side of thick rubber. He started to jump in glee. He immediately regretted it. He doubled over and grabbed his chest.

Pain radiated out of his chest in jagged shards. Duo decided he hated Poozork. He took several seconds to regain his composure, and straightened out. His eyes snapped to the sleeping, prostrate man. He stalked over to him, and lifted his boot. He brought it down on the man's face. Blood squirted out of his nostrils. Duo bent down, and ignored the twinge of pain this caused. He gingerly moved the man's arm over his head. He aimed for the exact same spot on the man's ribs that ailed him, and cocked his leg back. He left fly the heavy boot, and embedded it in the man's side. Poozork slid a full foot. The porcelain sliced open his naked back, and streaks of gore trailed after him. Duo smiled widely.

"These are my Stompin' boots," he scrunched up his face at the man, and shot him the bird again. He laughed aloud at himself, and promptly regretted that too. This chest injury was getting wearisome he decided. He scowled, and decided it was time to get down to business. He was in the galley. Every part of the small ship could be reached from this point. The ceiling doubled at the outside skin of the vessel. To his left were two hallways, one to the guest quarters. That one was empty, nothing in there but some threadbare sheets. The other was the hall to the crew quarters. He had converted it into one large Captain's Suite. Everything he owned was in those rooms. He tried to think of anything he needed.

There was his second copy of Nueromancer, the first he had lost sometime during the war. Probably Peacemillion he decided. Then again he might have given it away, that did sound more like him. For the life of him he never could remember who he would have given it to. Certainly not Heero, the stoic youth had no time for anything but manuals, orders, or missions. That had been the reason he left. He knew it was true, even if he reused to admit it. Heero floated though his mind. There was a photo of himself with his arms draped over the other man's shoulders in front of his newly repaired Deathscythe Hell. The thought of abandoning it, abandoning him to the cold vacuum churned his stomach a little. He had to get it back. He made for his captain's suite.

The bulkhead was sealed tightly. He pulled the release lever. The door bairly cracked an inch. Duo couldn't see inside. The inky black was absolute. The emergency lighting had failed. Duo had always been uncomfortable with the dark. He supposed it was because on the streets of L2 the worst always came out when it was the darkest. The pedophiles, the rapists, and the murderers roamed the streets on the darkest, and coldest nights. Solo always kept the young ones close when the lighting panels had failed. More than once though that hadn't been enough. Children disappeared when the lights failed, and no one was sure who would be there when they came back up.

Duo felt a lump in his throat, and tried to swallow it. It wouldn't go back down, and seemed to get larger as he slid his fingers into the crack. He shifted his weight against the bulkhead. It squealed loudly as it gave way, slowly. The sound built with each millisecond, and reverberated unpleasantly off the metal walls. Duo grimaced, and pushed harder. It took several seconds, but the bulkhead was finally open enough for him to cram through. The sliver of light from the portal illuminated almost nothing.

Goose flesh crawled up Duo's arms, and ticked the base of his skull. The building panic came in waves. His heart raced, and his palm started to throb uncomfortably again. Duo had to shut his eyes, and take several breaths. He tried to think of the names, the names of the ones who disappeared. He couldn't remember them, their faces blurred by time. He scrunched his face and tried to force an image. Red hair. Freckles. Her face was smudged. Duo remembered Solo trying to rub some of the grim off the little girl's face. She had been a favorite. Everyone loved her, Duo was a little jealous, understandably he thought. He had been the favorite before she come wandering in one day. But she was always optimistic and so damned cheery.

He remembered one day she had found a kitten; it was a half starved bedraggled little thing. She decided to make it her mission to care for it till she could find it "parents" as she called them. Solo had always been pretty lenient with her, but he did not like this. Duo smiled inwardly at the lectures that he had railed at her after she had run up to some passing stranger, and shoved the poor thing in their face, demanding they care for it. She eventually found it new "parents." That was the night before she disappeared, the lighting had failed again, and it was pitch on the streets. Then it struck him; her name was Rachel.

(~*~*~)

AN:

Special love to Elle, thank you for all your reviews. If you still haven't figured out who Poozork was, PM I'll tell you. PS No one knows who Monad is (except the reader), only Preventers has a suspicion. They are sending Wufei to determine.

To all the Anonnies out there, drop a review. It would make this silly fanfiction author very happy, not to mention help me write faster!


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

"So how did you manage to STEAL my keys," he put special emphasis on the word steal. She smirked infuriatingly, and Wufei would have liked nothing better than to slap the look right off of her face. She pressed the down call button, and placed her index finger on her chin as if it labored her to think of an answer to his question. Wufei had never credited the woman with an over-abundance of intellect, so that may well have been the case for all he knew. She stayed like this for several seconds. There was a soft tone from above, and elevator doors rattled open.

"They were on your desk when you decided to reclassify your office as a disaster area," she quipped, and stepped into the small space. Wufei followed, fuming. He went straight to the handholds in the back, and leaned against it. He stood equidistant from walls, propping his body up with his arms, and crossing his legs. Sally pressed the key for the lobby, and then followed him. She stood right next to him, bumping him lightly with her elbow. He scowled, and moved closer to the wall, she followed at a distance. She waited for the doors to close again before she spoke again. "You know it isn't really a good idea to go into the field with hair like this," she began playing with his mid shoulder length hair. There was a soft tone above their heads; they reached the ground floor before he could swat her for the intrusion. "Soft and downy though it maybe," she shot at him as she pushed away from the wall, and headed into the lobby. He growled at her back, and followed reluctantly.

"Get the pry bar, Mort," Wufei's attention snapped to a tall man surveying the wreck he had made of the elevator call button and back plating. He was calling out to a shorter fat man, apparently Mort. The tall man was holding a screwdriver, but there was clearly no need to unscrew the contorted metal. The impact had torn the short, blunted, mechanical screws clean out of the wall, leaving metal splinters and shavings scattered over the floor. He had lodged the button, and the back plate well into their housing, almost fusing them permanently. Mort was apparently having trouble finding the correct tool, and the taller man used the time to give a token attempt to pry the ruins of the call button assembly from the wall.

"You did number on the elevator, soldier boy," a security guard jeered around the contemptuous smile the man seemed to reserve especially for him. Wufei sensed the man felt the same for all of the ex-Gundam Pilots; he just didn't have a death wish. Wufei smiled at the thought of the man scared shitless over a couple of young men half his age. He misinterpreted Wufei's expression and leaned forward, "Does that amuse you? Well guess what, shit dick? I'm reporting this little incident to Commander Une herself, maybe then she'll see some sense, and we'll have one less of you little fag," he never finished his sentence. Sally punched him so hard he spun full around before landing face first on the tile. His body flopped heavily on the ground after it like a bag of old potatoes.

The guard didn't move as she escorted the stunned Wufei bodily out toward the door. She flung it open a little too harshly, and it rebounded heavily off the wall. The reinforced glass door wobbled and the hinges whined loudly as it flung back toward her. She lifted her arm and caught the glass with her forearm. Wufei watched in shock as cracks spider webbed through the bulletproof glass. She flung it open again. This time less forcefully. The door still slapped the wall loudly and echoed through out the deserted parking garage. She grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him roughly forward. Wufei swore he heard the seams popping in the jacket. She didn't let go when they were clear of the building, and dragged him behind her as she weaved through the pillars. He stumbled behind her. He was quickly getting fed up with this. He tried to pull gently against her. She ignored him, and yanked on his arm harder.

"Let go, woman," Wufei said without much conviction, and he was ignored. He scowled at her back, and tried to find a way free of her that didn't involve him in the same position as the security guard. Nothing came to mind before the reached the car, and in retrospect he decided it was not entirely wise to interrupt her when she was this worked up. They arrived on the passenger side, and she tore the door open. She roughly flung him inside.

He drove a large black SUV, and he was lucky that the interior was so roomy. She had shoved him in so hard that he fell out of his seat and spilled over into the console. He was not lucky; though, that he had not cleaned out his car for several days. There were a couple of old half full sodas from various burger joints still in the cup holders. He crushed them, spewing warm liquid all over himself. He was not thrilled with this new development. He rolled over as Sally got in on the driver's side. His legs were still draping over the console into the front seat, and the flat soda soaked into his lap, and through to the seat of his pants. He squelched in the sticky stuff, and he glowered darkly at her.

She looked back at him. Wufei watched as the anger drained from her face, and much to his displeasure her face contorted as she; a little too obviously, tried to force back a smile. For a second time in less than an hour violent images starring her floated through his mind. Sally started quaking with barely-contained mirth. His face twitched in several places as he tried, and failed to express his ire at the woman. She bit her bottom lip, and reached out her arm to him. He brushed it away, and hauled himself into his seat.

"Take me home," He didn't even look at her. His borrowed jacket now clung to him uncomfortably. He peeled it off, and was glad to be rid of it. He flung it into the back. It landed heavily with a wet burbling noise. He buckled his seat belt and gestured toward the road, indicating she should go. He herd he buckle her restraints as well, then the car turned over, and roared to life. The drive to Wufei's house was quiet.

Sally didn't try to engage him, and he was happier for it. He crossed his arms and leaned his head back. He felt he skin of his crossed arms stick together with the sugar from what had been his drink, but he ignored it. The hairs on the back of his neck would prickle periodically. He knew she was looking at him, and wanted to be acknowledged. He wouldn't give her any such satisfaction. He felt she had done enough to him this evening, and felt no need to encourage her further. Wufei felt the vehicle's momentum slow, and stop.

He waited for several seconds, listening to the engine purr quietly. He peeked one eye open to check if they were pausing at a traffic stop, or if they had reached their destination. She had parked. He found himself puzzled for a moment, they were in his parking spot. He tried to remember if she had ever been to his apartment. He couldn't think of a time. He let several seconds pass as he considered asking how she had known where is parking spot was. He finally decided it wasn't worth it. He opened the door without a word.

"Wufei…" she began. He slid off of the seat and onto the pavement, landing softly. He briefly faced her. He said nothing to her. She opened her mouth to continue. He shut the door a little too forcefully, cutting her off. He saw her face fall through the window. He turned and walked toward the stairs that lead to the third floor landing his apartment was on. His pants rubbed uncomfortably with each stride. He decided he really hated Sally as he came to the first flight of stairs. Each step pulled uncomfortably on his inner thighs. He was tempted just to tear the things off, and throw them over the railing. Maybe he would aim for the windshield, with Sally inside. He smiled at the thought of the wet slap they would make. He had always been one to cut off his nose to spite his face. He reached the landing before too long, and headed over to his door.

He reached out and turned the door handle. It was locked. She still had his keys at the bottom of the stairs. He sighed heavily. He was not looking forward to traversing the stairs again. A thought struck him; he tried keeping a key under the welcome mat. Heero had purchased it several years ago, and it was a frayed straw thing. He had hated it when Heero brought it home in a misguided attempt to spruce the place up. He smiled at it like an old adversary. He tried to toss the thing away several times, but he always found it back in front of the door the next day, or at least something remarkably like it. Wufei had entertained the thought that Heero kept a hidden stash of the tings somewhere, but soon dismissed that as being paranoid. Still he stopped trying to get rid of it.

He lifted the corner, and found nothing. He flipped the thing over, spraying old dirt all over the landing. Nothing. Heero would check under the mat every few days and remove the key Wufei placed there. He maintained that it was a security risk. Wufei had tried to explain that the war was over, and there was no need to be so staunch. Heero would just grunt noncommittally though and go about his business. Wufei scrunched up his face. He tried to think of a way into the apartment that didn't involve the stairs or speaking to Sally. He searched the doorframe, nothing. He checked the window. It was still cracked open; he would just have to remove the screen.

He smiled to himself and worked his fingers around the aluminum border. There was no give. The thing was old, and it was cemented in place after several badly done paint jobs. He could identify at least four separate colors splashed over the thing; including a sickly green he truly hated. Wufei slammed the palm of his hand on the bottom corner. It screeched, and bent very slightly. He smiled; things were starting to go his way for the first time today he hit it again, this time harder. It popped loudly out, and slung wildly toward him. He didn't have time to react it collided with the side of his head. A hollow 'thunk' echoed loudly. The screen clattered piercingly on the concrete. Wufei cringed at the sounds, and scrunched his eyes closed.

The sounds faded slowly, and he relaxed. He made his way to the window, and tired to lift his leg over the siding. There was a loud rip. This was not going to work. He leaned over the sill, and lay on the window track trying to balance forward. He slid forward slowly, scraping his chest. He wrinkled his face, and used his elbows to pull himself forward. He made slow, but steady progress. He got his front end into the apartment. He bent at his hips his rump was pushed up, but still hanging out into the landing. He reached the carpeted floor of his living room. He tried to shimmy forward, and he felt his belt loop catch on something as he worked his way in. His progress stopped. He tried to lift his hips, to no avail. He was stuck.

He planted his hands on the inside of the wall, and pushed. He held himself up with the strain. He felt his arms quivering, but he didn't budge. He wiggled his hips, and felt a little play. Wufei strained harder against the snag. The loop tore loudly, and Wufei shot forward. He tumbled face first onto the floor. He flipped over himself, and slammed his spine into the leg of his sofa. He groaned pitifully. His back seized up, as he hung upside down. He decided this sofa had to go, this was the second time today it had incapacitated him. He would have his revenge.

He slowly unfolded himself. Sharps pains would shoot up his back periodically, forcing him to stop. He grunted angrily at the universe. It took several seconds to get himself to sit up. His usual straight-backed posture hurt him terribly. He grunted and tried to twist, hoping he could pop his back. Tears welled up, and Wufei whined quietly. He felt his vertebrae scrape for several moments before they gave, and crunched back into place. He sighed as the pain dissipated. He sat for several seconds enjoying the afterglow of broken pain. He idly played with the remnants of his belt loop. He felt something hard in it. It was oblong. He squeezed its ends. It stabbed him. He dropped it, surprised. His fingers stung. He looked at the offending thing. It was a rusty and paint incrusted nail.

"Great now I have tetanus," he muttered to himself indulging in self-pity. He half smiled and fished the thing out of his clothes. It took several moments, and more than a little dexterity. When he finally got it free of the cloth he scowled at it. He pitched it out of the open window. He listened for the sound of it landing. It didn't come. He tried to time the thing falling, straining his ears hoping for the satisfaction of it smacking into the ground. He wondered dully what could have happened to it as he got up to get ready for his weeklong shuttle flight. He made his way into his bedroom, painfully hobbling. He carefully removed Heero's Shirt. It wouldn't come off. It clung uncomfortably to his skin. He strained against it. Pain shot through his back, and he grit his teeth against it. He pulled harder in spite of the pain in his back. It finally gave, and pulled the short hairs on his shoulders uncomfortably as it slid off.

He threw it on the floor forcefully. It slapped into the carpet with a wet spat, and he scowled at it. He kicked it out of the way, and stepped toward his dresser on the far side of his room. He wrenched open the sock drawer, to grab a week's worth of unmentionables. He grabbed a handful of socks, and tossed them on the bed. He grabbed a few pairs of underwear, and threw those on top of his pile on the bed behind him. He slammed the drawer closed, and pulled his shirt drawer open next. He was going to need street clothes for this venture. He pulled out several shirts before he realized he wouldn't need any of it. In his paperwork was a debit card linked to an almost unlimited account. He was intended to purchase clothes from local shops and try to fit into the scene he needed to at the time. He shook his head at himself, and peeled his pants off. He felt sticky, and cold. He needed a shower. He headed toward the bathroom at the end of the hall.

He stepped out into the hall, and turned toward the bathroom. An appreciative whistle came from the living room. He stopped; she was in his house. He turned slowly toward the sound. She was standing at the entrance to the hallway from the living room, and eyeing lecherously. He felt his scrotum tighten, and he flinched. His arms instinctively flew up to cover himself. He cupped himself, with one hand, and pointed toward the other room. It took the woman several seconds to get the hint, and turned around, but did not move. He inspected the back of her neck from where he stood trying to imagine wringing it.

He slowly backed toward the bathroom door, and slipped inside. He slammed the door behind him, and leaned against the closed partition. He groaned to himself, and beat the back of his head against the door. He should have known she was going to follow him. He took several seconds to compose himself. He was not looking forward to the hour-long drive to the spaceport.

He showered quickly, he had a flight in less than two hours, and he needed to move. He stepped out of the shower. He snatched an old towel from the bathroom floor, and wrapped himself in it, not bothering to dry off. He flew down the hallway to his room. He threw something on, not bothering to check. He hoped that his sense of urgency was enough to silence the woman in the other room, and bolted out of his bedroom clothed, but disheveled. She didn't look up at him as he entered the room, and he stepped hurriedly over to the window, and slammed it shut, and locked it. She still didn't look up. Then he noticed why; clutched in her hands was a copy of Neuromancer, HIS copy of Neuromancer. He stalked over to her with purpose, and snatched the thing ot of her grasp. She blinked several times in shock.

"Hey, I was reading that!" she protested. He tucked it under his arm and pointed toward the front door indignantly. She smirked at him and hopped up. " Well if you insist. P.S.

For you clothes are always optional," she reached around, and smacked him on the butt. His face burned as she sashayed out of his apartment. Wufei hesitated, weighing the consequences of getting in the car with her, verses facing Une the next day. He decided after several seconds of deliberation, that he had a better chance of keeping all his body parts if he went with Sally. He felt as a condemned man, as he stepped out, and locked the door behind him.

(~*~*~)

AN: Last Chapter made me very sad. I was very proud of it, and no-one bothered to share. Please review if you are enjoying!


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